THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Brifomari,  the  Socialist 


BY 

FLORENCE  RONEY  WEIR 


CHICAGO. 

SCROLL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
1901 


Copyrighted,  1900, 
By  FLORENCE  RONEY  WEIR. 


BRITOMfiRT,  THE  SOCIEIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  little  brown  house  from  whose  chimney 
no  smoke  had  issued  for  three  years,  the  door 
standing  part  way  open,  disclosing  a  musty  in 
terior,  and  a  big  packing  case  in  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen  floor;  a  dusty  lilac  bush  with  a 
robin's  nest  in  its  top,  all  about  waving  grain 
just  beginning  to  ripen  to  its  harvest.  A  tall 
girl  in  a  brown,  calico  gown,  with  a  man's  hat 
pinned  picturesquely  askew  on  her  head,  her 
hands  rolled  in  her  apron  to  protect  them  from 
the  sun,  standing  peering  in  at  the  open  door 
of  the  house ;  and  all  about  the  melting  July  heat, 
the  smell  of  cut  hay,  wild  roses  and  strawber 
ries. 

The  girl  was  Britomart  Landor,  and  she  had 
no  business  whatever  to  be  peering  there,  be 
cause  down  in  the  meadow,  whence  came  that 
odor  of  hay,  her  father  and  brother,  William 
John,  were  longing  with  the  hunger  and  thirst 
born  of  habit,  for  the  sandwiches  and  coffee 
hidden  in  the  pail  which  she  carried  on  her  arm. 
She  might  have  gone  through  the  woods  and 
over  the  brook,  and  so  reached  the  hay-field  by 
a  shorter  way,  but  instead  she  had  come  by  the 


154636O 


6  BRITOMART, 

way  of  the  road  in  order  to  stop  at  the  old  house 
for  a  minute,  where  she  had  discovered  the 
open  door  and  the  packing  box. 

The  house  belonged  to  Mr.  Leven,  who  lived 
on  the  farm  next  to  the  Landors';  it  had  not 
been  open  for  a  long  time.  Britomart  often 
pressed  her  face  against  the  panes,  and,  gazing 
into  the  two  bare  rooms,  saw  the  sunlight  lying 
in  squares  on  the  floor,  and  imagined  life  and 
laughter  within.  Many  a  time  she  wished  she 
might  rent  or  buy  the  place  of  old  Mr.  Leven, 
and  furnish  it  just  enough  to  be  livable. 

"I  would  paint  the  floors,  and  put  big,  braided 
rugs  in  the  centers  of  them.  In  the  farther 
room  I  would  have  a  little  white  bed,  a  small 
mirror  like  mine  at  home,  and  a  big  wooden 
rocker;  and  right  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen 
the  cunningest  cupboard,  with  a  pale  yellow  cur 
tain  in  front.  There  should  be  deep  blue  dishes 
and  a  brown  earthen  teapot.  I  should  have 
blinds  and  sash-curtains  at  the  windows,  and  my 
old  piano  should  stand  in  the  corner  there.  All 
the  forenoon  I  would  sit  by  the  window  with 
some  lovely  book  and  read  a  little,  and  dream  a 
little,  and  look  into  the  wheat,  and  there  would 
not  be  a  sound,  except  the  creaking  of  the  lilac 
bush  against  the  house,  the  sighing  of  the  wind, 
and,  now  and  then,  the  robin.  After  tea  I  would 
sit  on  the  door  step  and  dream  in  the  summer 
twilight;  and  if  a  storm  came  up,  I  would  go 
inside,  draw  down  the  blinds  and  play  grand 
music.  My  hands  would  fairly  fly  while  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  7 

tempest  beat  on  my  little  house  and  the  wind 
tore  at  the  lilac  bush." 

This  was  only  one  of  the  many  fancies  Brito- 
mart  wove  about  the  little  house,  and  when  she 
discovered  that  some  one  was  to  take  posses 
sion,  she  felt  that  the  unknown  was  intruding 
on  her  private  domain.  She  stepped  a  little 
nearer  the  door,  her  tin  pail  swinging  securely 
on  her  arm.  She  longed  to  go  in  and  explore 
a  little.  Years  after,  when  the  hurry  and  tumult 
of  a  larger  life  wearied  this  woman,  a  vision  of 
this  house,  adrift  in  the  wheat  fields,  would  come 
to  her  with  a  soothing  sense  of  perfect  stillness. 

She  made  a  pretty  picture  as  she  bent  slightly 
forward  to  look  in  at  the  open  door.  She  was 
taller  tfian  most  women.  The  abundant  hair, 
coiled  under  the  broken  straw  hat,  was  of  coarse, 
springy  texture,  and  so  dark  as  to  pass  for  black 
with  strangers.  Her  eyes  were  strong,  darlc 
blue,  under  well  arched  brows ;  her  complexion 
superb,  although  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  weather. 
Despite  these  good  points,  Britomart  Landor 
was  considered  a  very  plain  girl  in  the  neigh 
borhood  where  she  lived.  She  was  "smart" — 
no  one  clenied  that.  She  read  a  great  deal,  could 
play  the  piano  beautifully,  and  there  was  not  a 
beFter  cook  in  the  vicinity  of  Belleville ;  but  for 
beauty,  she  was  too  large,  her  features  were  not 
fine  enough,  she  did  not  dance,  and  altogether, 
was  not  admired  by  the  Belleville  beaux.  Tilly 
Leven,  her  neighbor,  was  a  very  pretty  girl  and 
a  great  catch  in  the  neighborhood. 


8  BRITOMART, 

A  step  sounded  behind  Britomart,  and  she 
started  guiltily. 

"Why,  Britomart!  Your  poor  father  will 
starve,  and  the  coffee  will  be  cold  as  a  stone." 

It  was  Mrs.  Landor  who  administered  the  re 
buke,  with  a  loving  smile  in  her  eyes  for  this 
daughter  who  was  the  delight  of  her  life.  She 
was  a  large  woman,  and  looked  worried  an3 
heated  with  her  walk.  She  wore  a  slat  sun- 
bonnet  which  shut  out  much  of  the  summer. 

Britomart's  heart  was  filled  with  contrition  as 
she  gazed  at  her  mother's  flushed  face. 

"I  know  it,  mother.  I  am  just  going  to  run 
down  through  the  wheat.  What  made  you  fol 
low  me?  Did  you  know  I  was  coming  up  by 
the  old  house  and  would  be  apt  to  loiter?  Don't 
you  fret  about  father.  I  guess  he  would  come 
to  the  house  before  he'd  starve." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Landor  sat  down 
on  the  door-step  with  a  tired  ejaculation.  She 
hacl  the  usual  over-worked  appearance  of  a  farm 
er's  wife,  although  her  hands,  with  their  labor 
stains,  were  yet  shapely,  as  she  clasped  them 
about  her  knees. 

"See,  mother,  the  door  is  open,  and  there  are 
boxes  in  there.  Some  one  is  going  to  move  in. 
Isn't  it  funny  1" 

"I  declare  that's  so.  Who  in  the  world  can 
it  be?  But  never  mind  that,  Britomart.  You 
must  hurry  right  down  after  pa.  Mr.  Spence 
came  to  the  house  just  as  you  went  up  the  hill — 
I  saw  you  going  the  long  way  round  with  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  9 

lunch — and  he  wants  me  to  come  just  as  soon 
as  I  can.  Mary  is  awful  sick,  and  they  think 
her  child  will  be  born.  I  ran  out  and  called  to 
you,  but  you  didn't  hear,  so  I  followed  you  up. 
I  didn't  want  to  have  to  go  through  the  wheat. 
It's  hard  enough  for  me  to  travel  on  packed 
ground." 

"It's  terrible,  isn't  it!" 

"Why,  no,  not  if  she  comes  through  all  right. 
Poor  Mary!  Come,  come,  child,  hurry!  Tell 
your  father  Fll  be  all  ready  when  he  gits  to  the 
house  with  the  team.  Mr.  Spence  had  his  sulky 
or  I  could  have  gone  with  him." 

"Just  like  old  Spence,  to  come  with  a  sulky/' 
said  Britomart. 

She  started  off  swiftly  through  the  wheat. 
The  prickly  heads  swished  before  and  behind  her 
with  an  exhilarating  sound.  John  Landor  would 
have  resented  any  one  else  running  through  his 
standing  grain,  but  he  looked  up  with  a  broad 
smile  as  this  tall  daughter  of  his  appeared  sud 
denly  in  the  wheat  like  Venus  in  the  sea. 

Britomart  delivered  her  message,  and  John 
Landor,  with  a  look  of  anxiety,  called  to  Wil 
liam  John,  who  was  driving  the  mower  a  short 
distance  off;  then  while  Britomart  explained 
matters  to  William  John,  he  hastily  ate  a  sand 
wich  and  was  ready  to  take  the  team  which  Wil 
liam  John  unhitched. 

"I  hope  everything  will  turn  out  well  for 
Frank  and  Mary,"  he  called  back,  as  the  team, 
pulling  strongly  on  the  lines,  towed  him  round 


10  BRITOMART, 

the  base  of  the  wheat-covered  knoll  out  of  sight. 

William  John  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  pro 
ceeded  to  enjoy  the  contents  of  the  pail  at  his 
leisure. 

"Father's  doughnut  is  here  yet,  and  lots  of 
coffee.  Come  on,  sis,  and  eat  with  me." 

He  made  room  for  his  sister  on  the  stone  be 
side  him.  Britomart  sat  down  and  took  the 
doughnut.  She  was  not  hungry,  but  she  felt  it 
would  be  a  comfort  to  sit  and  talk  things  over 
with  William  Jofin.  He  was  a  sweet-faced  boy, 
with  a  long  chin  and  a  prominent  nose.  His 
frame  was  large  and  bony,  indicative  of  strength 
and  a  coming  day  of  fine  physical  proportions. 
When  Britomart  found  herself  in  one  of  her 
restless,  dissatisfied  moods — and  this  happened 
often — there  was  nothing  so  soothing  as  a  quiet 
talk  with  William  John.  These  moods  were  the 
stirrings  of  a  great  spirit  within  her,  but  this 
she  could  not  know,  and  her  friends  considered 
them  flaws  in  an  otherwise  lovely  disposition. 

"William  John,"  began  Britomart,  "I  don't  see 
why  things  are  arranged  as  they  are.  When  I 
think  of  it,  it  makes  me  ugly  as  a  fiend  !" 

The  young  man  was  not  startled  by  this  dec 
laration.  He  had  heard  it  many  times  before. 

"What's  wrong  now?"  he  asked,  calmly 
munching  his  doughnut. 

"Well,  there's  Mary,.  She  was  such  a  nice, 
companionable  girl  before  she  married  Frank ; 
so  progressive  and  ambitious.  She  took  music 
lessons  and  sang  a  pretty  alto,  and  painted  some, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  11 

and — oh,  I  don't  know — lived!  And  now  see 
where  she  is." 

"Well,  she  lives  yet,  I  hope,"  said  William 
John. 

"Yes,  but  a  baby !  And  doing  her  own  house 
work  in  the  back  of  a  grocery  store,  poor  as 
poverty,  and  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but 
more  poverty,  and  death  at  last,  and  buried  in 
poverty !" 

"Oh,  Britomart,  not  so  bad.  Business  may 
pick  up  and  Frank's  luck  change.  People  have 
done  well  before  now  in  grocery  stores ;  why 
shouldn't  Frank?" 

"People  have  done  well  on  farms;  but  you 
know,  William  John,  that  we  are  not  doing  well. 
We  work  our  fingers  to  the  bone,  all  of  us,  and 
make  a  bare  living.  Mother  and  father  have 
always  done  so;  now  Frank  has  started  in,  and 
by  and  by  you  will  marry  that  little  fool — excuse 
me,  William  John — Tilly  Leven,  and  you  will 
begin  the  same  old  round." 

"Yes,  and  you'll  marry  Henry  Miller  and  be 
an  editor's  wife  and  pretty  well  off,  and  we'll 
all  live  near  each  other,  and  go  visiting  back 
and  forth,  and  it  won't  be  so  bad,"  said  William 
John,  optimistically. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  or  not,"  said 
Britomart. 

"Why,  sis,  what  makes  you  talk  so?  You 
may  thank  your  lucky  stars  to  get  a  fellow  like 
Henry  Miller.  He's  doing  well,  for  a  young 
man.  He  is  good-principled,  and  right  here  at 


12  BRITOMART, 

home.  I'd  a  good  sight  rather  you'd  marry  him 
and  live  right  near  us  than  to  go  off  to  Cranston 
or  some  other  place  twenty  or  thirty  miles  away. 
Won't  you  be  glad  to  live  right  near  the  rest  of 
us,  sis?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so;  but  I  don't  want  to 
marry  at  all.  I  hate  it !  When  I  think  of  living 
as  Mary  has  to  live — and  always  will  have  to — 
it  makes  me  shudder !  Just  think,  William  John, 
of  being  shut  up  with  Henry  Miller  in  a  ten  by 
twelve  room,  listening  to  his  talk  all  the  time. 
Ugh !" 

Britomart  sprang  up  and  threw  the  remainder 
of  her  doughnut  far  out  into  the  meadow.  After 
ward  a  blackbird,  with  a  red  cap  perched  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  found  it  there  and  made  a 
feast,  inviting  all  his  friends,  putting  on  airs  be 
cause  none  of  them  had  ever  tasted  such  sweeties 
before. 

"And  the  poverty — the  hopelessness  of  the 
lifelong  poverty,"  continued  Britomart,  "and 
there's  no  way  out  of  it — there  is  no  way  out  of 
it.  Talk  about  America  being  the  land  of  the 
free !  None  of  us  are  free !  We  are  all  slaves, 
driven  with  a  lash !  Look  at  poor  mother  and 
father.  Never  a  day  to  call  their  own;  never  a 
little  foolishness."  The  angry  tears  were  in  her 
eyes,  and  she  trod  the  short  grass  back  and  forth" 
before  the  placid  William  John  like  a  lithe  young 
tigress. 

"I  can't  see  how  we're  going  to  help  it,"  said 
William  John.  He  could  not  deny  the  truth  of 


THE  SOCIALIST.  13 

his  sister's  assertions,  an<3  they  troubled  his  calm 
mind. 

"One  way  we  could  help  it  would  be  not  to 
bring  children  into  the  world  to  follow  in  our 
footsteps  and  tread  the  same  weary  round,"  de 
clared  Britomart.  "Look  at  me.  I  came  into 
the  world  with  a  longing  for  music — to  know  it, 
to  revel  in  it.  My  mother  before  me  had  this 
longing,  but  what  has  been  parceled  out  to  her 
in  this  life  in  place  of  music?  Why,  milking 
cows,  churning,  nursing  babies " 

"But  you,  Britomart,  you  know  a  good  deal 
about  music  now." 

"I  know  music!"  cried  Britomart,  in  fine 
scorn.  "Because  I  can  play  the  'Battle  of  Prague' 
you  think  I  know  anything  of  music?  Don't 
ever  make  such  an  assertion  before  one  who 
knows,  William  John,  because  it  would  subject 
us  both  to  ridicule." 

William  John  was  completely  crushed,  and 
brushed  the  crumbs  off  his  lap  in  silence.  He 
was  troubled  by  his  sister's  unrest.  He  wished 
she  did  not  take  things  so  to  heart.  He  hacT 
been  real  happy,  down  in  the  meadow  among 
the  blackbirds,  and  the  world  looked  bright  to 
him.  His  fancy  had  been  dwelling  on  a  certain 
face,  a  face  which  had  occupied  his  thoughts  a 
good  deal  of  late ;  but  Britomart's  stormy  mood 
had  clouded  his  own  horizon.  He  had  not  felt 
the  world  to  be  all  wrong  in  the  morning,  but 
since  his  sister  came  this  feeling  possessed  him, 
and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  feeling.  He  was  in- 


14  BR1TOMART, 

clined  to  be  a  little  put  out  at  Britomart.  He 
loved  and  admired  her  very  much,  but  he  wishecl 
heartily  that  she  did  not  get  these  bitter  moods 
upon  her  so  often.  To  be  sure,  she  loved^  music'; 
so  did  he;  so  did  Tilly  Leven.  Pretty  little 
Tilly!  But  Tilly  did  not  let  her  love  of  music 
make  her  unhappy.  On  the  contrary,  she  playeH 
the  accordion  very  sweetly.  One  of  the  pictures 
in  his  mind  was  of  her  as  she  sat  at  her  bedroom 
window,  the  apple  blossoms  thick  in  the  orchard, 
a  cup  of  spring  flowers  on  the  sill,  and  Tilly,  in 
her  dark  calico  gown  and  white  apron,  with 
sleeves  rolled  above  her  dimpled  elbows,  her 
light  hair  clinging  in  soft  rings  about  her  soft 
Tittle  face,  gently  pressing  a  spasmodic  melody 
out  of  her  wheezy  accordion.  Britomart  laughed 
at  Tilly's  art  and  said  she  ought  always  to  play 
martial  music,  because  the  rattling  of  straps  and 
keys  was  so  suggestive  of  men  marching  in 
battle  array,  and  cavalry  going  at  full  gallop. 
But  Britomart  need  not  be  funny  at  Tilly's  ex 
pense  ;  Tilly  had  some  traits  Britomart  would  do 
well  to  imitate — a  sweet  feminine  content  and 
domestic  simplicity,  for  instance.  He  felt  he 
would  like  to  tell  Britomart  this,  if  he  could  only 
word  it  in  a  way  not  to  hurt  her  feelings.  And 
Britomart,  never  dreaming  of  the  reproof  so 
near  her  brother's  lips,  went  on  with  her  confi 
dences. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,  what  makes  me  feel 
so  bitter  towards  marriage.  Every  time  I  think 
of  being  married  to  Henry  Miller — which  I  sup- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  15 

pose  I'll  have  to  be ;  you  all  seem  to  think  it's 
the  only  thing  for  me  to  do — it  makes  me  ugly 
and  unhappy ;  and — do  you  know,  William  John, 
I  believe  father  and  mother  decided  my  disposi 
tion  when  they  named  me  Britomart.  That 
means  'Hater  of  Men.'  I  found  it  in  the  dic 
tionary  the  other  day.  And  I  am  a  hater  of 
men !" 

"I  call  that  down  right  wicked,  sis !  You 
don't  hate  poor  old  father,  do  you,  and  me,  and 
Frank ?" 

"Oh,  I  mean  the  Human  race — man,  with  a  big 
M,  women  and  children  included." 

William  John  was  too  much  shocked  to  reply. 
Britomart  saw  his  displeasure  in  his  face.  She 
knew  she  was  making  her  brother  perfectly  mis 
erable,  but  she  persisted.  She  was  miserable 
herself  in  thinking  all  these  bitter  thoughts,  and 
to  whom  should  she  go  for. consolation  if  not  to 
William  John  ?  She  could  not  talk  to  her  mother 
this  way,  because  it  made  her  so  very  unhappy, 
and  she  was  always  so  tired  that  Britomart  was 
unwilling  to  add  the  slightest  weight  to  her  bur 
dens  ;  but  William  John  was  young  and  too  opti 
mistic.  He  was  too  soddenly  contented  to  go  in 
his  father's  footsteps  and  bend  his  back  to  the 
same  burdens  of  hard  worlc,  debt,  large  family, 
poverty,  premature  old  age*. 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  go  away  and  try 
to  get  a  musical  education  in  the  city.  I  believe 
I  could  do  it,  in  some  way." 

"Oh,    pshaw!    Britomart;    put    such    discon- 


16  BR1TOMART, 

tented  notions  out  of  your  head.  You  know 
enough  about  music.  In  a  few  years  you  will  be 
married,  and  then  you  won't  have  time  for  music. 
Look  at  Mary  Andrews  and  Sarah  Corbin. 
Nothing-  would  do  but  they  must  go  to  Cranston 
to  be  taught  music  and  painting,  and  then,  after 
their  fathers  had  spent  two  or  three  hundred 
apiece  on  them,  they  came  home  and  got  mar 
ried,  and  Sarah  told  me  at  church  last  Sunday 
that  the  only  time  she  ever  touched  her  organ 
was  when  she  wiped  the  dust  off ;  that  she  could 
not  even  play  church  music  any  more,  her  hands 
were  so  stiff." 

"That's  the  way  it  goes !"  declared  Britomart, 
bitterly.  "Let  any  of  us  entertain  an  aspiration, 
an  ambition,  and  beat  our  heads  against  the  bars 
of  circumstances — the  invincible  keeper  with  an 
iron  goad  prods  us  back  to  our  lair  to  snarl  out 
our  lives  in  vain.  The  same  old  round !  I  tell 
you,  William  John,  I  hate  it !  It  is  so  useless,  so 
hopeless.  If  it  only  meant  anything,  if  I  were 
doing  any  one  any  good  by  submitting,  if  I  were 
making  a  martyr  of  myself  for  any  one's  sake — 
for  poor  old  father's,  or  mother's,  for  you,  or 
Frank,  or " 

"Or  Frank's  child,"  joked  William  John. 

"Well,  I  really  don't  love  Frank's  child  to  the 
degree  that  I  would  suffer  martyrdom  for  it — I 
resent  the  little  nuisance,  to  tell  the  truth.  As 
I  was  saying,  if  there  was  any  earthly  use,  I 
could  go  on  as  you  are  all  going  on,  but  there 
is  not.  What  good  will  it  do  if  I  work  and 


THE  SOCIALIST.  17 

marry,  and  work  and  bear  children,  and  work 
and  grow  old,  and  work  and  die,  and  be  buried" 
out  of  sight  ?  Of  all  my  life  there  would  be  this 
record  left :  'She  worked,  but  accomplished  noth 
ing,  save  to  feed  and  clothe  herself.  She  has  left 
more  mouths  and  backs  in  the  world  to  be  fed 
and  covered.'  That  is  all." 

"But  by  doing  patiently  and  uncomplainingly 
that  work  which  lies  at  your  hand,  you  will  have 
made  the  people  around  you  happy.  Mother 
and  father  and  us  boys  first ;  Henry  Miller — if 
he  is  your  husband — and  later  afl  those  children 
you  propose  having,"  and  William  John  grinned 
at  his  sister.  He  could  not  imagine  brilliant, 
high-strung  Britomart  patiently  dandling  Henry 
Miller's  children. 

"If  I  married  Henry  Miller  it  would  not  be  long 
before  he  would  wish  me  and  my  'tantrums'  in 
the  Red  Sea,  and  the  children — I  tell  you,  Wil 
liam  John  Landor,  I  can't  see  how  the  children 
of  poor  people  can  thank  their  parents  for 
thrusting  existence  upon  them  in  this  day  and 
age.  I  am  sure  I  do  not." 

Britomart  was  going  to  say  more,  and  Wil 
liam  John  had  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  when 
a  pink  face  surrounded  by  a  sunbonnet  of  the 
same  hue,  appeared  floating  on  the  waves  of 
ripening  wheat,  and  Tilly  Leven  called  out 
sweetly  that  she  had  been  up  to  the  old  house, 
had  seen  Britomart's  hat  in  the  meadow,  and  so 
came  down. 

Britomart  sniffed  disdainfully.     "A  great  deal 


18  BRITOMART, 

she  cared  for  Britomart's  hat!"  she  thought. 
"It  was  the  hat  of  William  John  which  attracted 
her." 

That  young  man's  countenance  had  been 
knotted  with  scowls  caused  by  the  contemplation 
of  difficulties  suggested  by  his  sister's  conversa 
tion,  but  it  cleared  immediately  at  sight  of  the 
pink  sunbonnet.  Tilly  looked  very  pretty  under 
that  bonnet.  The  color  brought  out  not  only 
the  pink  of  her  cheeks,  but  the  pearly  shades  of 
neck  and  forehead.  Try  it  once,  ye  doubters. 
Don  a  pink  sunbonnet  and  see  what  it  will  do  for 
your  complexions,  or  hang  a  pink  drapery  over 
your  mirror  and  behold  yourselves  always  young 
and  fresh. 

William  John  gave  his  seat  on  the  stone  to 
Tilly,  and  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass,  a 
happy  light  in  his  eyes.  The  clouds  had  rolled 
away.  Once  more  the  blackbirds  piped,  and  life 
seemed  right — to  him.  The  gloom  on  his  sis 
ter's  face  was  too  deep  for  the  shadow  of  a  pink 
sunbonaet  to  disperse.  She  did  not  feel  its 
presence  such  an  honor  as  did  William  John. 
Any  young  man  around  Belleville  would  feel 
flattered  to  have  Tilly  Leven  call  upon  him  in 
the  meadow,  and  of  late  she  had  often  shown  a 
preference  for  William  John  Landor. 

"What  were  you  talking  about  so  fast  when  I 
came  through  the  wheat?"  asked  Tilly. 

"I  was  trying  to  convince  William  John  that 
a  man  who  has  eaten  two  fat  sandwiches  and 
four  big  doughnuts,  and  drunk  two  cups  of  cof- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  19 

fee,  did  not  need  any  dinner,  but  I  haven't  suc 
ceeded,  so  I  must  'go  quvigck  in  der  house,'  as 
Martha  Schlater  would  say,  and  make  dinner." 

"O,  pshaw!"  said  William  John.  "It  isn't  so, 
Tilly.  Tell  her  what  you  were  saying  and  see 
what  she  thinks  about  it." 

"Thinks  about  it !"  said  Britomart,  coolly  eye 
ing  the  pink  sunbonnet.  "Tilly  couldn't  think 
about  it." 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Tilly,  a  little  nettled  at 
the  implication  in  Britomart's  remark. 

"Politics,"  answered  Britomart. 

"No,  indeed,  then,"  said  Tilly,  demurely. 
"Women,  especially  young  girls,  can  find  some 
thing  more  appropriate  to  think  about." 

"It  wasn't  politics,"  said  William  John. 

"Then  what  was  it?"  asked  Britomart,  and 
William  John  could  not  name  it,  for  neither  of 
the  young  people  dreamed  it  was  Sociology,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  that  word  meant. 

"By  the  way,  what  do  you  think  of,  Tilly?" 

"What  all  young  girls  think  of,  I  presume," 
answered  Tilly,  wishing  with  all  her  heart  that 
Britomart  was  at  the  house  getting  dinner,  and  . 
no  one  in  the  meadow  but  William  John  and 
herself. 

"But  I  am  a  young  girl,  and  I  am  sure  you 
and  I  do  not  think  of  the  same  things." 

Tilly's  power  of  repartee  was  not  her  strong 
point,  by  any  means,  but,  like  most  dull  people, 
she  sometimes  stumbled  on  a  cutting  answer. 
She  did  just  then. 


20  BRITOMART, 

"Oh,  you- are  not  so  young  any  more.  You 
are  over  twenty-two,  and  I  think  girls  get  wise 
and  prosy  after  they  are  twenty." 

Britomart  flushed  now,  and  William  John 
laughed  uneasily.  He  was  afraid  the  girls  were 
going  to  quarrel ;  but  Britomart  only  said,  "Not 
you,  Tilly,  never  fear,"  and  Tilly  took  it  as  a 
compliment,  and  smiled  prettily,  as  Britomart 
gathered  up  her  dishes  and  pail  and  made  ready 
to  start  for  home. 

"Talking  about  politics,  I  heard  something 
awful  about  Paul,"  said  Tilly.  "When  pa  was 
down  town  the  other  day,  Dan  Halbright  told 
him  he  saw  Paul  over  at  Cranston,  where  he 
works,  and  Paul  wasn't  satisfied  with  his  wages 
nor  nothing,  and  Dan  said  Ke  talked  just  awful 
about  the  republican  party — said  it  was  just  as 
bad  as  the  democrats.  Dan  said  he  was  dumb 
founded  to  hear  one  of  John  Lander's  boys  talk 
that  way.  Pa  says  that  if  Paul  was  his  boy  he 
would  be  afraid,  going  over  to  Cranston  to  \vork 
with  all  them  rough  factory  men,  he  would  turn 
democrat." 

There  was  horror  and  then  unbelief  pictured 
in  William  John's  face.  "Don't  you  ever  believe 
it,  Tilly,"  he  said.  "My  brother  Paul  will  never 
turn  democrat.  Dan  Halbright  is  always  nos 
ing  up  something  terrible.  He  likes  to  make 
folks'  eyes  stick  out." 

"Well,  I  hope  it  isn't  so,"  said  Tilly,  piously. 

"I  don't  care  if  he  is  a  democrat,  if  he  is  a 
good  man,"  declared  Britomart,  more  to-be  con- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  21 

trary  than  for  any  other  reason,  for  she  pos 
sessed  the  family  abhorrence  for  a  democrat  in 
quite  as  great  a  degree  as  did  William  John. 

"Why,  Britomart  Landor !  you  know  well 
enough  he  couldn't  be  a  democrat  and  still  be  a 
good  man !"  cried  Tilly. 

"Why?"  asked  Britomart. 

"Because  !"  said  Tilly. 

Britomart  laughed.  "The  reason  is  sufficient. 
I  think  it  would  convince  any  jury  in  the  land. 
I  thought  you  never  talked  politics  ?" 

"I  don't ;  but  anybody  knows  that  you  can't 
be  any  lower  down  than  to  be  a  democrat." 

Britomart  turned  to  William  John  triumph 
antly.  "There  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  You 
see  we  women  do  think  and  talk  politics — all 
of  us.  We  believe  a  certain  class  of  men  are 
fiends  and  we  stick  to  it  and  would  fight  for  it, 
and  yet  if  anybody  asks  us  our  reasons,  we  say, 
'It  is  so  because  it  is  so,  and  so,  now !'  and  go 
off  firmly  convinced  that  no  one  can  dispute  our 
reasons.  The  women  are  all  that  way,  and  most 
of  the  men.  It  makes  me  sick !" 

"May  be  she  is  going  to  be  a  democrat," 
laughed  Tilly. 

"You  needn't  fret,  but  if  Paul  turns  democrat, 
I  shall  certainly  listen  to  and  try  to  understand 
some  of  his  reasons  for  turning,  before  I  sen 
tence  him  to  slow  starvation." 

"Well,  you  may  try  to  understand  politics  if 
you  have  time;  I  haven't.  I  am  crocheting  me 


22  BRITOMART, 

a  whole  waist,  and  it  will  take  me  all  summer  to 
finish  it." 

William  John  thought,  "What  a  deft-fingered 
little  body  she  is,  making  her  own  finery;  so 
economical  too."  Her  next  remark  rather  dis 
couraged  his  admiration  in  this  respect. 

"It  will  take  nearly  a  hundred  spools  of  fine 
thread." 

"At  four  cents  a  spool,"  said  Britomart. 
"Four  dollars  worth  of  thread  and  about  one 
hundred  dollars  worth  of  time,  and  then  it  will 
be  a  saggy,  ungainly  thing.  I  would  rather  get 
thirty-five  cents  worth  of  white  muslin  and  make 
a  really  pretty  waist.  You  could  put  in  the  rest 
of  the  time  in  making  soap-bubbles.  No  one 
denies  their  beauty." 

William  John  was  uneasy  again.  "Don't  mind 
her.  She  likes  to  hear  herself  talk,  Tilly.  If 
she  meant  everything  she  said,  there  would  be 
no  living  with  her."  ^ 

Tilly's  cheeks  were  very  red  and  she  was 
nearly  crying.  Britomart  saw  the  rebuke  in  her 
brother's  face  and  relented  at  once. 

"Everybody  to  their  taste,  Tilly.  It's  all  right, 
and  I  was  just  teasing  you.  I  don't  know  that 
it  will  be' saggy.  Come  on;  aren't  you  going 
now?  I've  got  to  get  dinner  for  this  lazy  fel 
low,  who  hasn't  done  enough  haying  this  fore 
noon  to  pay  for  his  lunch,  say  nothing  of  dinner. 
Mother  is  away  from  home,  and  I  am  alone  to 
day.  Come  along,  Tilly.  Let's  go  back  through 
the  wheat,  by  the  little  old  house.  Oh,  by  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  23 

way,  has  your  father  rented  it  ?  I  saw  the  door 
open  and  a  big  box  inside  as  I  came  down." 

"Yes,  he  has  rented  it,"  murmured  Tilly,  with 
no  great  degree  of  enthusiasm.  She  was  still 
smarting  from  the  insinuations  that  a  democrat 
might  be  a  gentleman,  and  that  her  crocheted 
waist  would  be  saggy. 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  urged  Britomart.  "Is  there 
a  large  family  ?  Won't  it  be  funny  to  have  new 
neighbors  ?  I  don't  like  it  very  well.  I  like  to 
have  the  old  house  empty.  I  like  to  flatten  my 
nose  against  the  pane  and  imagine  whomsoever 
I  please  living  inside." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  pay  pa  to  refuse  to 
rent  the  house  in  order  that  you  might  flatten 
your  nose  against  the  windows,"  said  Tilly,  with 
what  she  intended  to  be  biting  sarcasm.  Wil 
liam  John  and  Britomart  both  laughed. 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Britomart,  "the  tenants 
won't  object,  in  consideration  of  a  small  sum,  to 
still  grant  me  the  privilege.  It  might  be  quite 
interesting  to  me." 

"It's  a  man,"  said  Tilly ;  "just  a  man,  all  alone. 
Pa  says  he  don't  see  what  he  wants  to  rent  an 
old  house  out  in  a  wheat-field  for,  but  he  did, 
and  that's  all  there  is  of  it.  Pa  asked  him  if  he 
was  looking  for  work,  and  he  said  the  funniest 
thing.  He  said  no,  he  was  looking  for  a  place 
to  get  away  from  work.  I  think  he  is  crazy." 

"Because  he  wants  to  get  away  from  work?  I 
don't;  I  think  he  is  wise.  I'd  get  away  from 
every  bit  of  it  if  I  could,"  laughed  Britomart. 


24  BRITOMART, 

"I  wouldn't,"  said  Tilly,  demurely;  "I  ain't 
lazy,  whatever  else  I  may  be." 

Britomart  caught  a  smile  on  the  tips  of  her 
ringers,  and  the  girls  plunged  into  the  wheat 
together,  while  William  John  went  back  to  his 
work. 

"What  kind  of  a  looking  man  is  it  who  has 
rented  the  house?"  asked  Britomart,  as  they 
approached  the  dwelling  in  question  from  the 
rear. 

"Oh,  he  is  about  as  tall  as  William  John.  He 
has  a  Roman  nose,  and  a  lazy  way,  and  the  pret 
tiest  hands  you  ever  saw.  Pa  couldn't  get  any 
thing  out  of  him  as  to  what  he  intended  to  do, 
or  why  he  was  renting  the  house." 

The  old  well-sweep  stood  outlined  against  the 
sky,  a  gnarled  plum  tree  grew  close  beside  it, 
the  dark  weather  stains  of  the  cottage  served  as 
a  background  to  the  picture.  It  pleased  the 
artistic  sense  in  Britomart.  She  experienced  a 
thrill  of  pleasure.  She  wished  the  new  tenant 
had  not  come  to  spoil  her  loafing  place,  for  this 
old  well-curb,  the  plum  tree,  and  a  book,  had 
brought  her  happy  hours. 

The  girls  went  down  the  road  together  until 
they  came  to  the  corner  where  Tilly  turned  to  go 
to  her  own  home. 

"I  think  I'll  come  over  a  few  minutes  tonight, 
after  supper,"  she  said.  "Will  you  be  at  home  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Britomart,  with  a  sigh, 
and  Tilly  bade  her  good-bye,  graciously  ignor 
ing  the  lack  of  invitation  in  Britomart's  tone. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  25 

"Mighty  little  she  cares  whether  I  want  her 
or  not,  so  long  as  she  wants  to  come.  She'll 
come,  in  that  persistent  way  of  hers  which  passes 
for  sweetness,  presumably  to  see  me,  in  reality 
to  see  William  John,  and  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  my  evening's  practice  and  sit  dumbly  by, 
while  they  look  unutterable  things  at  each  other. 
Dear  me !  How  I  do  hate  anything  that  savors 
of  courting!  Well,  I'll  hurry  up,  and  after  the 
dinner  dishes  are  out  of  the  way,  I  will  practice, 
and  I  will  patch  this  evening  while  listening  to 
the  dear  boy  make  a  fool  of  himself  over  that 
insignificant  little  thing.  And  now  to  make  his 
waffles  for  him,  Bless  his  dear  old  heart !  I  wish 
he  might  have  a  little  different  life — that  I  might 
do  something  grand  for  him,  and  the  rest." 

After  dinner,  just  as  Britomart  put  the  last 
touch  to  her  simple  toilet,  and  opened  the  piano, 
happy  in  the  anticipation  of  a  good  two  hours' 
practice,  the  door  swung  open  and  old  Mr. 
Spence  came  in.  Mr.  Spence  was  Frank's 
father-in-law,  and  considered  to  be  a  very  dis 
reputable  old  man,  for  he  was  a  democrat  of  the 
deepest  dye. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Old  Man  Spence  was  not  a  handsome  man. 
His  face  was  rugged,  and  seamed  by  sixty  years 
of  varying  weather  on  a  farm,  and  his  long,  nar 
row  tuft  of  white  beard  was  apt  to  be  discolored 
by  tobacco  juice.  His  slovenly  habits  and  ob 
jectionable  politics  did  not  tend  to  make  him  a 
favorite  with  the  Landor  family.  Even  Frank 
had  harbored  a  secret  dislike  for  him  in  the  first 
days  of  his  marriage.  It  had  worn  away  after 
two  years  of  intimate  acquaintance,  but  Brito- 
mart  had  not  this  advantage,  so  kept  her  poor 
opinion  intact.  She  considered  the  old  man  par 
ticularly  objectionable  this  afternoon,  as  he  set 
tled  himself  in  her  mother's  chair,  and  after  fir 
ing  an  amber  stream  of  tobacco  juice  as  straight 
as  an  arrow  into  the  wood-box,  announced  with 
great  importance  that  he  had  "been  sent  up  to 
tell  *em  that  Frank's  folks  had  a  boy."  Brito- 
mart  admitted  that  she  was  not  surprised,  and 
Mr.  Spence  was  a  little  astonished  at  her  calm 
ness  in  hearing  the  news.  She  inquired  solicit 
ously  after  Mary,  and  Spence  informed  her  in 
an  off-hand  way  that  "Mary  was  doin'  all  right," 
returning  immediately  to  the  more  engrossing 
subject  of  the  boy. 

"Darndest  little  critter  ye  ever  see.  Great  big 
feller;  eyes  jist  as  blue  as  a  piece  er  glass." 

"Mercy!  I  hope  he  hasn't  glass  eyes,  Mr. 
Spence." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  27 

"And  jist  as  bright  as  a  button,"  continued 
the  infatuated  grandfather,  ignoring  Britomart's 
flippant  remark.  "I'm  glad  the  first  one  is  a 
boy." 

"The  first  one  and  the  last,  I  hope,"  said  Brito- 
mart. 

"Pooh !  what  do  you  old  maids  know  about 
children?  They'll  have  a  dozen — hope  they 
will." 

"At  least  when  they  do,  I  hope  Frank  will  be 
making  more  than  he  is  nowadays,  and  be  able 
to  lay  up  a  bit.  What  right,  I'd  like  to  know, 
has  Frank,  or  any  other  man,  to  bring  children 
into  the  world  without  the  least  show  of  edu 
cating  them?  What  will  become  of  this  poor 
little  piece  of  humanity?  Frank  isn't  making 
his  living,  Mr.  Spence ;  you  know  that." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  just  as  well  as  you  do. 
Frank  ain't  making  anything;  neither  are  the 
rest  of  'em.  Frank  ain't  the  only  one  who  is 
running  behind.  But,  Lord  bless  you !  it's  hard 
times  now.  Things'll  take  a  turn  by  the  time 
this  little  duffer  gits  up  in  the  world — long  be 
fore,  I  hope.  Yes,  sir,  times's  got  to  pick  up 
pretty  soon  or  Frank's  a  goner.  Had  to  borry 
the  money  o'  me  to  meet  his  last  two  bills  with. 
'Course  you  needn't  say  anything  about  this.  I 
wouldn't  mention  it  outside  the  fambly.  Mary's 
the  only  child  I  got  left  out  o'  ten,  and  what's 
mine's  hers;  but  it  does  seem  darn  queer  'at 
Frank's  so  behindhand." 


28  BRITOMART, 

"You  say  that  all  the  other  merchants  in  Belle 
ville  are  the  same  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can't  deny  that.  It's  the  damned 
politics,  that's  what  it  is.  You  see,  the  repub 
licans  has  had  it  all  their  own  way  for  thirty 
year,  and " 

"But  we  are  under  democratic  administration 
now,  Mr.  Spence." 

"You  can't  undo  thirty  year  legislation  in  one, 
I  can  tell  you ;  and  besides  we  ain't  under  it  yet. 
Cleveland  can't  do  anything  till  he  gits  a  con 
gress  that  goes  with  him,  and  his  party — but 
good  land !  What's  the  use  of  talking  politics 
to  a  womarn?  They  don't  know  beans  about 
politics.  Talk  to  the  women  about  beaux  and 
babies,  not  politics." 

"But  I  have  neither  that  I  am  interested  in, 
and  I  am  very  much  interested  in  the  politics 
of  my  own  country,  and  anxious  to  understand 
it  a  little  better.  You  see,  father  and  the  boys 
and — Henry  Miller,  are  all  republicans,  so  I  hear 
only  one.  side  of  the  question,  and  sometimes  I 
think  they  don't  more  than  half  know  what  they 
are  talking  about." 

"Well,  my  girl,  you  struck  it  there !"  Mr. 
Spence  rose  excitedly,  assumed  a  more  familiar 
position,  with  his  back  to  the  stove  and  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  using  the  wood-box,  meantime, 
as  a  cuspidore  in  a  way  which  alarmed  the  tidy 
instincts  of  the  girl,  who  would  Be  obliged  soon 
to  build  the  fire  for  tea.  "There  you've  struck 
it !  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say  agin  your  father, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  29 

John  Landor ;  he's  as  nice  a  man  as  ever  stepped 
foot,  but  he's  a  fool  when  it  comes  to  politics. 
He's  too  easy.  He's  a  republican  because  he's 
allers  been  a  republican.  He  uses  reason  in 
other  things,  'cept  politics,  but  in  politics  he's 
as  blind  as  a  bat.  He  don't  stop  to  consider 
that  his  party  has  changed  since  the  war;  that, 
in  fact,  we  democrats  are  upholding  the  very 
principles  which  used  to  be  the  war-cry  of  the 
republicans.  And  then  there's  the  tariff.  Now, 
your  father  knows  as  well  as  I  do  that  a  high 
tariff  don't  help  him  any.  He  knows  well  enough 
that  his  wheat  don't  sell  any  higher  on  account 
of  the  tariff,  and  that  his  coat  costs  him  a  good 
deal  more  than  it  would  if  the  tariff  on  manu 
factured  goods  was  taken  off,  that  it  makes  no 
difference  with  the  price  of  wool,  because  we 
only  import  a  certain  long-hair  wool  for  the 
making  of  fine  goods,  a  kind  of  wool  which  can't 
be  raised  in  America." 

"Isn't  the  democratic  congress  fixing  the  tariff 
now,  Mr.  Spence?  Why  don't  we  have  better 
times?" 

"We  shall,  we  shall,  after  a  little.     You  wait !" 

"I  hope  you  are  rfght.  You  say  I  am  already 
an  old  maid,  and  all  my  life  I  have  heard  nothing 
but  hard  times ;  and  the  strangest  part  of  it  is, 
they  are  just  on  the  point  of  getting  better  when 
along  comes  a  presidential  election  year  and 
knocks  everything  in  the  head  again.  Every 
time  we  have  a  relapse  we  get  worse." 

Mr.  Spence  stopped  at  the  door  to  give  Brito- 


80  BRITOMART, 

mart  another  minute  description  of  Frank's 
baby.  "There  goes  my  practice  hour  for  this 
afternoon!"  pouted  Britomart.  "I  must  get 
supper  now,  and  after  supper  it  will  be  some  one 
else,  I  suppose."  And  it  was.  Mr.  Landor 
came  home  in  the  same  state  of  grandfatherly 
exultation  which  had  characterized  Old  Man 
Spence. 

"Cunningest  little  thing,  Britomart.  You'd 
die  a  laughing  to  see  him  double  up  his  firsts  and 
strike  out.  Eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky.  I  never 
saw  so  young  a  child  that  was  so  smart." 

"Oh,  I've  heard  all  this  before,"  laughed 
Britomart. 

"Who's  tellin'  you?" 

"Old  Spence."  ' 

"Ha!  ha!  Well,  you'd  laugh  to  see  that  old 
goose — just  hung  right  over  that  young  one  the 
minute  it  was  born.  The  women-folks  and  I 
had  to  shove  him  out  of  the  room." 

"So  you  could  hang  over  it,  I  presume,  hey, 
father?  Poor  child!  It's  in  danger  of  being 
smothered  by  grandparents ;  mother  and  Mrs. 
Spence  all  the  time,  and  you  and  Old  Spence 
spasmodically." 

Mr.  Landor  brought  word  that  his  wife  would 
stay  in  town  a  spell,  until  the  baby  was  well 
started  on  its  earthly  career,  and  Britomart  pro 
ceeded  to  do  up  the  supper  dishes  with  the  lonely 
feeling  she  always  experienced  when  her  mother 
was  gone.  Before  they  were  finished  Tilly  Leven 
came  do\vn  to  pay  the  promised  visit,  and  after 


THE  SOCIALIST.  31 

listening  with  many  expressions  of  astonishment 
and  delight  to  Mr.  Landor's  long  account  of  the 
wonder  which  had  come  to  town,  found  her  way 
outf  under  the  apple  tree,  where  she  and  Wil 
liam  John  exchanged  confidences  with  a  low 
hum,  "like  a  swarm  of  bees,"  as  Britomart  said. 
Britomart  sat  down  at  the  piano  with  a  guilty 
feeling  of  apprehension,  for  well  she  knew  who 
would  come  soon — her  lover — and  she  would 
much  rather  he  would  stay  away.  "What  is  the 
reason,"  she  asked  herself  fearfully,  "that  I  al 
ways  dread  to  see  him  coming?  I  should  not 
feel  that  way  towards  the  man  I  am  thinking 
of  marrying.  I  am  sure  William  John  doesn't 
feel  so  when  Tilly  Leven  appears.  His  face 
lights  up  like  a  lantern,  and  he  seems  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  can  sit  and  talk  to  her  the 
entire  evening.  It  must  be  because  I  do  not 
love  him.  But  why  in  the  world  do  I  not  love 
him?  Shall  I  never  love  anybody?  Am  I  dif 
ferent  from  the  rest  of  my  kind?  He  is  good, 
he  is  the  only  young  man  who  has  ever  noticed 
me  in  the  least.  I  should  feel  grateful  to  him, 
if  nothing  more.  He  is  quite  a  catch,  too — a 
young  editor;  and  father  and  mother  are  de 
lighted  at  the  prospect  of  the  match.  Oh,  well, 
I  presume  all  women  feel  as  I  do  at  times. 
Mother  told  me  once  that,  really,  she  cared  very 
little  for  father  when  she  married  Em,  and  was 
more  than  half  in  love  with  a  young  man  who 
never  amounted  to  anything;  but  that  now  she 
worshiped  every  hair  on  dear  old  father's  head. 


32  BRITOMART, 

It  is  hard  to  understand  yourself.  It  is  hard  to 
take  your  soul  in  your  hand  and  examine  it,  to 
fathom  the  why  and  the  wherefore.  I  wish  I 
could  feel  as  sure  of  my  love  for  Henry  Miller 
as  I  do  of  that  for  my  father  and  mother  and 
the  dear  old  boys,  or  my  music — how  I  do  love 
my  music,  and  how  far  I  am  from  the  heart 
of  it." 

She  sat  down  to  the  piano  in  the  stuffy  little 
front  room.  The  door  looking  out  on  tBe  front 
walk  stood  open.  The  walk,  bordered  by  stiff 
poplars,  ended  at  the  garden  gate.  Britomart 
played  on,  always  with  the  consciousness  of 
listening  fearfully  for  the  click  of  the  gate  and 
her  lover's  step  on  the  walk.  The  barns  were 
across  the  road  from  'the  house,  and  back  of 
them  the  grove  rose  solemn  and  dark  against 
the  blaze  of  the  western  sky.  Mr.  Landor,  on 
the  small  porch,  read  his  weekly  paper,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  the  unpleasant  anticipation  of 
the  gate-click,  the  homely  peace,  the  beauty  of 
the  night  and  her  own  music  would  have  made 
Britomart  happy. 

Suddenly  the  warning  sounded,  the  gate 
clicked  sharply.  He  had  come.  Well,  she 
would  keep  on  playing  until  he  rapped  or  made 
some  other  demonstration  to  make  his  presence 
known.  Perhaps  he  would  go  to  the  porch  and 
talk  awhile  with  her  father.  She  hoped  he  would 
do  so.  She  played  on — no  sound.  She  repeated 
the  rondo  which  she  had  been  playing,  and,  in 
fluenced  by  her  wish  to  remain  alone,  her  dis- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  33 

content,  her  longing,  she  played  with  much  feel 
ing.  There  was  something  of  her  mood  voiced 
in  her  music.  Then  Her  hands  fell  from  the 
keys  with  a  sigh  and  she  swung  round  on  the 
stool. 

A  man  was  sitting  on  the  stone  steps  which 
led  up  to  the  door.  He  wore  a  velveteen  coat 
over  a  negligee  shirt,  the  collar  of  which  fay 
comfortably  loose  about  his  throat.  His  pro 
file,  which  was  the  view  Britomart  first  had  of 
him,  was  rendered  remarkable  by  a  prominent 
Roman  nose,  a  firm  sweet  mouth,  and  a  strong 
chin.  He  was  sitting  quite  still,  gazing  at  the 
western  sky,  and  clasping  a  crush  hat  about  his 
knees  with  hands  which  were  long,  white  and 
fine.  Britomart  recognized  him  from  Tilly's  de 
scription  as  the  tenant  of  the  old  house.  But 
little  did  she  clream  at  that  moment  of  the  new 
influence  which  had  come  into  her  life;  that 
when  those  slender  hands,  with  their  steely 
strength,  woulci  b'eckon  her  to  new  and  danger 
ous  ventures,  she  would  follow ;  that  from  those 
keen  eyes  and  gentle,  smiling  lips  would  ema 
nate  commands  she  would  have  no  will  nor  wish 
to  disobey. 

He  arose  when  she  stopped  playing,  and  bow 
ing  with  just  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  said:  "You 
are  Miss  Landor,  I  believe.  I  am  Dennis  Blair. 
I  have  recently  rented  the  cottage  west  of  here, 
in  the  wheat-field,  and  I  was  told  I  might  pos 
sibly  find  board  at  Mrs.  Lander's.  You  were 
playing  when  I  came  through  the  gate,  and  I 


84  BRITOMART, 

took  the  liberty  of  enjoying  your  music  unasked. 
I  love  to  play,  or  to  listen  to  music  on  nights 
like  this,  when  the  sun  is  setting." 

"You  play,  then?"  asked  Britomart. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "Will  you  permit  me?" 
and  he  seated  himself  at  the  piano. 

Britomart  sat  down  in  the  doorway,  uncon 
sciously  assuming  the  attitude  in  which  she  had 
first  seen  her  visitor,  her  hands  clasping  her 
knees,  her  eyes  turned  towards  trie  glowing  west. 

Never,  in  all  her  limited  experience,  had  Brito 
mart  seen  a  man  at  the  piano.  It  was  not  a 
common  sight  in  the  vicinity  of  Belleville.  She 
knew,  of  course,  that  in  the  world  men  played 
the  piano,  but  she  had  never  happened  to  see 
one.  At  first  the  novelty  of  it  absorbed  her,  but 
presently  the  charm  of  the  music  began  to  weave 
its  spell  about  her.  It  was  music  she  had  never 
heard  before.  At  first  it  seemed  weak  and  jum 
bled — too  complicated  to  be  understood  or  en 
joyed — but  presently  those  soft,  rapid  notes  pro 
duced  a  sense  of  rest  after  great  weariness,  of 
sleep,  of  utter  forgetfulness. 

Meanwhile  the  glow  went  out  of  the  west  en 
tirely,  and  a  cool  night  wind  sprang  up.  The 
parlor  darkened,  but  the  musician  needed  no 
light.  The  music  deepened,  swayed  and  trem 
bled,  assuming  a  martial  ring.  Britomart  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  hope,  of  strength,  a 
knowledge  that  she  might  do  great  things,  suffer 
and  be  strong  for  the  love  she  bore  her  kin  or 
country.  Her  love  of  music  and  her  susceptf- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  35 

bility  to  its  influences  made  her  soul  an  instru 
ment,  the  strings  of  which  the  steely,  white 
fingers  were  striking  simultaneously  with  the 
old  piano  keys.  The  piano  was  old,  its  best 
days  done,  but  the  harp  of  the  woman's  soul 
was  new,  and  attune  to  the  possibilities  of  great 
endeavor.  To  Britomart,  as  she  sat  and  gazed, 
it  seemed  as  though  a  panorama  of  her  life,  as 
she  wished  it  might  be,  opened  in  the  western 
sky.  To  be,  to  do,  to  suffer,  for  great  ideals. 
She  would  have  liked  to  walk  rapidly,  or  sway 
back  and  forth  in  time  to  the  music.  •  There  was 
a  look  of  inspiration  on  her  face,  of  intent  though 
suppressed  emotion  in  her  attitude. 

The  man  at  the  piano  finished,  and  turning, 
caught  something  of  her  mood.  He  regarded 
her  silently — impersonally.  There  was  none  of 
the  admiration  of  a  man  for  a  pretty  woman  in 
his  gaze,  but  instead  a  speculation,  a  summing 
up  of  the  possible  capabilities  in  the  girl  before 
him. 

Mr.  Landor  came  around  from  the  side  porch 
as  the  music  stopped. 

"I  was  just  coming  to  hear  you  play,  Brito 
mart,"  he  said,  with  his  usual  sunny  smile.  Brito 
mart  stood  up.  The  man  at  the  piano  left  the 
stool  and  came  out  upon  the  stone  platform.- 

"My  playing !"  exclaimed  Britomart.  "Father, 
did  you  really  think  it  was  I  who  was  playing?" 

"Of  course  I  did." 

"It  was  this  gentleman.     This  is  my  father, 


36  BRITOMART, 

Mr.  Blair.  Mr.  Blair  has  called  to  see  about 
boarding  with  us." 

Mr.  Landor  led  the  way  into  the  house. 
"Come  in,  come  in.  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure. 
My  wife  ain't  to  home,  but  Britomart  here  has 
as  much  to  say  about  it  as  her  mother,  I  sup 
pose.  What  do  you  think  your  mother  would 
say,  Britomart?" 

"Are  you  a  teacher  of  music?"  asked  Brito 
mart,  eagerly. 

For  the  space  of  a  moment  the  man  hesitated, 
then  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "Perhaps  I 
might  hope  to  obtain  you  for  my  pupil,  giving 
lessons  in  part  payment  for  my  board.  I  do  noT 
require  lodgings.  I  have  rented  the  cottage 
west  of  here." 

"Oh,  father,  do  you  suppose  mother  would 
care?" 

William  John  and  Tilly  appeared  at  this  mo 
ment,  Tilly  having  started  for  home,  after  her 
most  delightful  evening  visiting  Britomart. 

"William  John,  this  gentleman,  Mr.  Blair,  is 
a  music  teacher,  and  wants  to  board  with  us. 
He  will  give  me  lessons.  Do  you  think  mother 
would  care?  Miss  Leven,  this  is  Mr.  Blair.  I 
presume  you  have  met  before,  as  he  rented  trie 
house  from  your  father." 

Yes,  Miss  Leven  had  met  Mr.  Blair  earlier  in 
the  day. 

"Why,  mother  won't  care  if  you  say  it's  all 
right.  You  have  as  much  of  the  work  to  do  as 
mother,"  said  William  John,  pleasantly. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  37 

The  stranger  smiled  at  William  John,  and  the 
boy  returned  the  smile  with  a  broad,  honest, 
farmer  boy's  grin. 

"You  didn't  say  anything  about  being  a  music 
teacher,  or  perhaps  we  might  have  taken  you 
ourselves,"  said  Tilly,  in  an  aggrieved  tone  of 
voice.  She  felt  that  in  some  way  Britomart  had 
defrauded  her  of  a  chance  to  get  music  lessons 
cheap. 

"Do    you    give    lessons  on  the  accordion?" 

William  John  felt  himself  blushing  for  Tilly. 
He  loved  music,  although  knowing  nothing  of 
the  science.  He  liked  to  see  Tilly  with  her 
favorite  instrument  in  her  hands,  but  did  not 
altogether  enjoy  the  music  she  extracted  from  it. 
She  possessed  a  cabinet  organ,  but  preferred  the 
accordion,  because  she  could  arrive  at  an  effect 
without  so  much  labor.  It  took  time  to  learn 
to  play  the  organ,  and  she  needed  time  for  her 
crocheting.  William  John,  who  knew  nothing  of 
this  pressure  of  fancy-work,  and  supposed  the 
reason  the  organ  stood  shut  and  voiceless  was 
for  lack  of  instruction,  determined  that  if  this 
man  staid  long  and  gave  his  sister  lessons,  Tilly 
should  take,  also,  at  his  expense.  A  few  les 
sons,  he  felt  sure,  would  enable  Tilly  to  rise 
above  Britomart's  ridicule. 

If  Britomart  expected  to  see  an  answering 
ridicule  in  Mr.  Blair's  face  she  was  disappointed. 
He  admitted  to  Miss  Leven,  gravely  and  politely, 
that  the  only  instruments  with  which  he  was" 
familiar  were  the  violin  and  piano,  the  latter  but 


38  BRITOMART, 

in  a  superficial  degree.  His  manner  conciliated 
Miss  Leven  considerably.  She  did  not  wish  to 
take  lessons  on  any  instrument  except  the  ac 
cordion,  so  was  willing  that  her  father's  tenant 
should  board  with  the  Landors.  However,  she 
wished  the  man  had  told  her  what  his  business 
was. 

Britomart  decided  she  had  better  not  give  Mr. 
Blair  an  answer  until  she  had  consulted  her 
mother  on  the  subject.  He  was  to  come  the 
next  evening  to  hear  the  decision.  Meanwhile 
William  John  would  go  to  Belleville  to  lay  the 
case  before  Mrs.  Landor.  Mr.  Blair  was  to 
come  to  dinner  just  the  same. 

All  the  next  forenoon  Britomart  went  about 
with  a  new  light  shining  in  her  eyes.  This 
stranger's  music  had  opened  a  door  to  her — a 
door  of  promise.  Now  and  then  she  would 
leave  the  kitchen  and  going  to  the  piano  play  her 
own  familiar  music,  trying  to  catch  the  touch, 
to  infuse  the  passion  into  it  which  she  had  recog 
nized  in  the  man's  playing.  She  hoped  he  would 
play  again  when  he  came  to  dinner,  but  he  did 
not.  He  sat  under  the  trees  and  talked  politics 
with  her  father  and  William  John,  or  rather  en 
couraged  them  to  talk  without  expressing  many 
opinions  himself.  Tilly  Leven  came  after  din 
ner,  and  the  two  girls  went  down  where  the  men 
were  resting  and  talking.  It  was  very  sweet 
there  in  the  shade  of  the  Balm  of  Giliad  tree, 
with  its  varnished  leaves.  Tilly  had  been  sent 
by  her  mother  to  borrow  some  "emptins." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  39 

Britomart  knew  why  Tilly  had  postponed  wash 
ing  her  dishes  until  after  her  errand  was  done, 
so  led  the  way  at  once  down  under  the  trees. 
Blair  relinquished  the  bench  to  them  and 
stretched  himself  on  the  grass,  his  head  sup 
ported  on  his  hand.  Britomart  noticed  how 
graceful  the  lines  of  his  long,  lithe  body  were. 
She  had  thought  him  very  plain  at  first.  Today 
something  in  his  gaunt  cheeks,  narrow,  deep-set 
eyes,  hooked  nose  and  hard,  handsome  mouth, 
fascinated  her  as  mere  regularity  of  feature 
could  not  have  done. 

There  was  much  that  was  interesting  in  the 
conversation  also.  Tilly  considered  it  very  stu 
pid,  and  made  several  vain  attempts  to  draw 
William  John  away  from  the  rest.  She  wanted 
to  tell  him  of  a  party  which  was  in  prospect,  and 
to  which  she  wished  him  to  be  her  escort,  but 
William  John  felt  that  this  stranger  was  in  an 
overt  manner  attacking  his  father's  good,  stanch, 
political  convictions,  and  he  wanted  to  hear  his 
father— in  whom  he  had  the  greatest  confidence 
— convince  this  man  of  his  mistakes.  William 
John,  despite  his  awkward  youth,  had  a  keen, 
thoughtful  mind,  and,  although  he  would  not 
own  it,  much  better  powers  of  argument  than  his 
father.  Although  he  liked  this  man,  he  did  not 
relish  hearing  him  make  the  assertion  that  the 
republican  party  was  not  the  same  good,  honest 
old  party  it  had  ever  been,  fighting  for  liberty 
and  the  good  of  all  men.  Hence  the  blandish 
ments  of  Tilly  were  passed  by  unheeded. 


40  BRITOMART, 

"I  believe  in  high  tariff,"  his  father  was  say 
ing.  "I  believe  in  protecting  our  own  manufac 
turing  interests  from  them  there  fellows  over  in 
Europe  who  can  git  men  to  work  for  next  to 
nothing,  and  then  bring  stuff  over  here  to  cut 
down  the  prices  of  labor  in  this  country." 

"But  some  of  the  most  highly  protected  in 
dustries  are  the  most  wretchedly  paid.  How  do 
you  explain  that?  The  cotton  manufactures, 
for  instance." 

"Don't  you  believe  in  the  tariff?"  cried  Wil 
liam  John,  in  much  the  same  tone  of  voice  in 
which  he  would  have  asked,  "Don't  you  believe 
in  God?" 

"No,  my  boy,  I  do  not,"  answered  Blair. 

"Why,  you  must  be  a  democrat !" 

A  thrill  of  horror  shot  through  Tilly  Leven. 
The  accused  smiled  slowly,  showing  a  set  of  fine 
teeth.  "No,"  he  answered,  "I  am  afraid  I  am 
not  conservative  enough  to  be  a  good  demo 
crat?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  demanded  Wil 
liam  John,  determined  to  ascertain  just  where 
this  poor  wanderer  did  stand,  if  it  took  all  the 
afternoon. 

"Why,  I  mean  that  a  good  democrat  will  swal 
low  almost  anything  that  is  given  to  him  in  a 
spoon  marked  Democracy.  So  long  as  it  bears 
the  old  name,  whether  it  be  good  or  ill,  he  takes 
it  willingly,  gladly." 

Mr.  Landor  laughed. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  41 

"And  you,  too,  are  a  republican,  I  under 
stand,"  said  Blair,  addressing  William  John. 

"You  bet  I  am!"  answered  William  John, 
loudly,  the  proud  young  blood  mounting  into  his 
cheeks.  He  felt  strong  to  defend  the  right 
against  this  ignorant  teacher  of  music,  a  pleasant 
enough  fellow,  to  be  sure,  but  ignorant,  woefully 
ignorant  of  politics. 

"Why  are  you  a  republican  ?"  asked  Blair. 

It  was  hardly  fair  to  tackle  a  boy  this  way. 
"I  am  a  republican,"  blustered  William  John, 
"because — it's  the  best  party — because  father  is, 
for  one  reason." 

Mr.  Landor  laughed  again.  "You  must  give 
a  better  reason  than  that,  William  John,  a  better 
reason  than-  that." 

Blair  said  gravely:  "That  is  a  very  common 
reason,  and,  for  a  boy  with  an  honest  father, 
whom  he  loves  and  respects,  it  is  a  very  natural 
reason.  I  had  a  good  republican  father,  one 
who  vote'd  the  straight  ticket  year  after  year. 
He  was  a  hard-working,  honest  man,  a  machinist 
by  trade.  He  fought  three  years  in  the  war  and 
came  home  in  the  belief  that  there  were  long 
years  of  happiness  in  store  for  him.  He  had 
been  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  in  the  service  of 
the  country  that  he  loved,  and  confidently  ex 
pected  to  receive  in  return  the  privilege  of  earn 
ing  an  honest  living  for  himself  and  family  by 
the  sweat  of  his  brow.  He  voted  for  the  pro 
tective  tariff  because  he  was  led  to  believe  that 
in  building  up  the  industries  of  the  country  the 


43  BRITOMART, 

manufacturers  would  be  enabled  to  give  better 
wages. 

"The  facts  were  these:  My  father's  wages 
decreased  instead  of  increasing.  The  tariff 
principles  of  his  party  made  clothing  and  house 
hold  necessities  higher,  but  there  was  no  corre 
sponding  rise  in  his  wages.  The  tariff  did  not 
shut  out  foreign  emigration,  and  competition  be 
came  so  strong  that  he  found  himself  begging 
humbly  for  a  chance  to  work  at  all — a  thing  he 
would  1'ave  scorned  to  do  in  earlier  days,  for  he 
was  a  good  workman.  The  city  grew  up  about 
him,  rent  became  so  high  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  provide  other  than  a  wretched  home  for 
his  wife  and  children.  He  was  told  continually 
by  his  fellow-workmen  that  he  was  in  hard  luck, 
having  a  family  to  support.  He  had  thought  it 
the  best  of  luck  to  possess  a  sweet  wife  and  three 
little  children.  His  best  impulses  were  born 
through  his  life  with  and  love  for  them.  He 
came  to  realize  that  over  half  the  men  with 
whom  he  worked  had  no  families  because  it  was 
becoming  impossible  for  a  working  man  to  sup 
port  one  decently  on  the  small  and  uncertain 
wages  of  their  class.  They  herded  together  in 
dirty  boarding  houses,  and  in  place  of  having  a 
home  to  go  to  at  night,  they  went  to  saloons 
and  brothels.  They  were  never  sure  of  a  job  for 
more  than  three  months  in  a  place;  then  they 
made  ready  to  tramp,  and  tramp  it  was  literally, 
because  of  the  life  they  led  they  had  no  money 
as  a  usual  thing. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  43 

"One  year,  owing  to  strikes  and  an  over 
crowded  condition  of  the  labor  market,  he  had 
only  three  months'  work  during  the  entire  year. 
I  was  getting  to  6e  a  strapping  fellow  then.  We 
were  on  the  verge  of  starvation.  He  said  to  me 
one  day :  'Dennis,  I  can't  understand  it.  Amer 
ica  is  a  great  and  glorious  country,  but  there  is 
something  wrong,  not  because  we  are  poor  and" 
starving,  but  we  are  not  alone.  All  labor 
ing  men  are  in  the  same  boat.  The  men 
we  work  for  are  getting  too  rich,  while  we  are 
getting  too  poor.  Some  say  it  is  the  machinery, 
some  say  over-production.  I  don't  know,  Den 
nis,  my  boy,  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  I  wish 
you  had  never  been  born  to  struggle  and  be 
beaten  as  I  have  been.' 

"The  next  day  he  died,  and  I  swore  by  the 
God  that  reigns  above  us  that  I  would  know, 
that  I  would  find  out  'the  something'  that  was 
wrong.  Other  minds  which  were  greater  and 
better  than  mine  were  studying  it  out  also,  and 
with  their  help,  and  my  own  observation  and 
experience,  I  have  reached  conclusions  which  I 
find  justified  every  day." 

Dennis  Blair  had  risen,  and  with  his  thumbs 
lightly  caught  in  his  trousers  pockets,  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  his  face  pale  and  his 
thin  lips  compressed  tightly  he  seemed  to  per 
sonify  to  Britomart  the  oppressed  labor  class, 
rising  in  its  manly  intelligence  and  newly  ac 
quired  knowledge  against  the  oppressors. 

"But,"  said  John  Landor,  "you  don't  tell  me 


44  BRITOMART, 

that  the  republican  party  was  the  cause  of  this 
ruin?" 

"It  certainly  did  not  prevent  it,"  answered 
Blair.  "For  all  my  father's  faith,  it  did  not  pre 
vent  it.  It  allowed  the  abuses  which  have  made 
it  possible  for  the  few  to  grasp  what  belongs 
to  the  many.  My  father  was  but  one  of  mil 
lions.  You  do  not  feel  the  pressure  here  as  yet, 
in  any  great  measure ;  and  still  you  are  wronged. 
You  have  spent  a  life  of  honest  toil  upon  this 
farm,  you  have  had  glorious  harvests,  the  sun, 
wind  and  rain  have  been  good  to  you.  That 
which  you  produce  with  so  much  labor  and 
weariness,  the  world  reaches  out  eager  hands  to 
receive.  There  are  hungry  mouths,  never  half 
filled,  longing  for  that  produce ;  there  are  toil- 
grimmed  thousands  ready  to  pay  for  it  fairly 
with  labor  not  a  whit  less  arduous  than  your 
own.  But  what  is  the  result  ?  A  transportation 
king  takes  the  first  half  of  your  profits,  and  a 
millionaire,  with  an  option  on  pork  and  grain, 
the  speculator,  the  man  on  exchange,  take  the 
lion's  share  of  the  remainder.  You  work  blindly 
on,  hoping  for  better  times,  misled  by  lying^ 
demagogues  and  a  press  belonging  body  and 
soul  to  your  enemies.  But,  pshaw !  I  am  taking 
your  time.  Your  team  should  be  in  the  field." 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !"  began  William 
John,  but  his  father  turned  upon  him  sharply, 
and  William  John,  not  being  used  to  a  rebuke 
from  his  gentle,  laughing  old  father,  was  startled 
by  his  vehemence. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  45 

"I  should,  some  day,  like  to  talk  with  you 
again  on  this  subject,  Mr.  Blair.  I  believe,  as 
you  say,  there  is  something  wrong,  but  just 
what,  I  have  never  been  able  to  put  my  finger 
on." 

"Haven't  I  always  told  you  so?"  cried  Brito- 
mart.  "Haven't  I  always  said  you  didn't  get 
your  just  dues?  And  mother — nothing  better 
than  a  slave  all  her  life.  Mrs.  Leven  is  just  as 
bad,  and  most  of  the  farmers'  wives ;  but  they 
do  not  feel  it  as  my  mother  has.  What  is  life, 
I  want  to  ask  you,  when  it  is  work,  work,  and 
never  a  glimpse  of  the  things  you  yearn  for? 
You  want  an  hour  at  the  piano,  you  get  eight 
hours  at  the  wash-tub.  Now,  I  wouldn't  mind 
four  at  the  piano  and  four  at  the  tub,  but  with 
my  poor  mother  it  has-been  all  tub  and  no  piano. 
So  it  would  be  with  me  if  I  should  marry  a 
farmer." 

"Or  a  mechanic,  or  a  factory  hand,  Miss  Lan- 
dor,  or  any  man  who  earns  his  living  by  manual 
labor.  It  was,  once  upon  a  time,  a  free  and 
independent  way  of  living;  it  has  come  to  be  the 
life  of  a  slave." 

Britomart  had  started  from  her  seat.  She 
flung  out  her  hands  with  'a  gesture  uncon 
sciously  dramatic. 

"You  tell  us  of  the  symptoms  of  the  disease, 
but  you  speak  of  no  remedy."" 

Dennis  Blair  shook  his  head.  "Ah,  the  rem 
edy,  I  fear,  will  be  long  in  being  recognized. 
What  would  you  think  of  a  sick  man  who  held 


46  BRITOMART, 

a  phial  in  his  hand  containing  a  sure  cure  for 
his  disease,  yet  slowly  died  because  he  believed 
it  wicked  to  interfere  with  the  will  of  Divine 
Providence,  which  had  sent  the  affliction  upon 
him?  You  would  say  that  the  man's  fanatical 
faith  was  large  enough  to  accept  the  disease,  but 
not  large  enough  to  understand  that  a  good  God 
had  also  sent  a  remedy.  A  little  research,  a  little 
thought,  would  have  helped  the  man  to  under 
stand." 

"I  wish  there  was  something  in  the  world  a 
woman  could  do  for  the  sake  of  her  race.  I 
would  devote  my  life  to  it  1" 

Blair  regarded  her  with  that  look  of  specula 
tion  in  his  eyes  which  had  appeared  there  on 
their  first  meeting. 

"Don't  make  any  rash  promises,  Miss  Lan- 
dor,"  he  said,  laughing.  "The  first  thing  for 
either  man  or  woman  to  do  nowadays  is  to  read 
and  think.  With  your  father's  permission  I  will 
loan  you  this  little  book.  If  you  have  time  I 
should  like  you  to  read  it  also,"  he  said,  turning 
to  William  John. 

"It  won't  hurt  William  John  to  read  it,  but 
it  would  take  but  mighty  little  to  make  a  rebel 
of  Britomart.  She's  like  one  of  these  here  little 
bantams,  with  big  spurs,  not  very  well  fitted  for 
it,  but  always  ready  for  a  fight,"  laughed  Mr. 
Landor,  following  William  John  to  the  barn  for 
the  team. 

Tilly,  a  bit  piqued  at  her  defeat  all  along  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  47 

line,  sat  poutingly  pulling  and  braiding  the  long 
grasses. 

Britomart  took  the  book,  and  with  a  hectoring 
smile  said,  "Thank  you,  I  will  read  it  aloud  to 
Tilly  this  afternoon." 

"No,"  said  Tilly  hastily,  "my  folks  would  not 
approve  of  my  listening  to  sermons  on  politics. 
They  don't  think  that's  a  woman's  business ; 
neither  do  I.  And  we  are  not  slaves,  either,  I'd 
have  you  know,  Miss  Britomart  Landor." 

"Oh,  you  have  a  great  advantage  over  some 
people;  you  are  like  the  Irishman's  snake — you 
are  dead,  but  you  are  not  sensible  of  it.  It's 
much  easier  to  get  along  that  way." 

"Oh,  very  well !  Of  course  you  don't  care  to 
associate  with  slaves,  so  I  will  bid  you  and  Mr. 
Blair  a  good  afternoon." 

Blair  went  with  her  to  the  gate,  which  he  held 
open,  while  the  offended  young  lady  swept 
through,  a  good  deal  mollified  by  this  unusual 
act  of  politeness.  She  saw  no  other  reason  for 
it  but  that,  absolutely  infatuated  with  her  beauty, 
the  fellow  did  it  as  a  rebuff  to  saucy  Britomart. 

"And  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity !"  quoted 
Blair,  coming  back  to  the  bench  under  the  tree. 
"If  you  are  to  devote  your  life  to  the  people,  the 
ignorant  people,  Miss  Landor,  the  first  requisite 
is  infinite  pity — and  charity." 

"But  she's  such  a  fool,"  sighed  Britomart. 

"Yes,  but  it  is  the  fools  in  place  of  the  knaves 
who  keep  the  world  where  it  is.  We  have  to 
deal  principally  with  fools,  and  must  learn  to 


48  BRITOMART, 

do  so  gently.  You  lose  forever  your  influence 
over  a  person  as  soon  as  that  person  becomes 
angry  with  you.  You  cannot  convince  them 
then." 

"She'll  come  back  tonight,"  said  Britomart, 
laughing,  "as  soon  as  William  John  drives  the 
team  into  the  barn." 

"The  old,  old  story,"  said  Blair,  smiling,  and 
bidding  Britomart  good  afternoon,  started  up 
the  sandy  hill  toward  his  cottage,  leaving  her 
fumbling  curiously  the  first  leaves  of  the  book 
he  had  loaned  her. 

Tilly  Leven,  looking  back,  saw  Blair  leave 
Britomart,  apparently  disconsolate,  under  the 
tree  almost  immediately  after  her  own  depar 
ture,  and  tossed  her  head  disdainfully. 

"Big  homely  thing!"  she  muttered,  "I  guess 
she's  made  up  her  mind  that  she  ain't  as  much 
consequence  as  she  thinks  she  is.  She  sits  down 
there  feeling  pretty  cheap  at  this  minute !" 

But  she  was  mistaken.  Britomart  had  already 
forgotten  both  of  her  visitors  in  the  perusal  of 
the  book,  which  was  the  new  gospel  founded  on 
the  old,  and  whose  sum  and  substance  was 
"Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Farmer  Leven  called  to  Farmer  Landor 
across  the  line  fence  next  day,  as  they  were 
working  in  their  respective  fields.  Mr.  Leven  re 
sponded  to  the  neighborly  demand  by  coming 
to  the  fence  and  resting  one  foot  on  the  bottom 
board,  his  elbows  on  the  top. 

Leven  was  a  dull  man,  with  heavy  lips  and  a 
long  nose.  He  was  round  shouldered  from  un 
remitting  toil,  and  his  face  bore  a  look  of  chronic 
melancholy.  He  came  slowly  through  the  wheat, 
"taking  his  time,"  as  Landor  thought.  He 
wished  the  old  fellow  would  hurry  up.  He  had 
just  started  William  John  around  to  cut  the  first 
swath  in  the  south  field.  Harvest  was  regu 
larly  begun,  and  he  felt  the  farmer's  well  known 
pride  in  his  first  round. 

"Ain't  you  cuttin'  pretty  earily?"  asked  Leven, 
in  a  voice  which  was  always  a  surprise  to 
strangers,  it  was  so  high  and  squeaky,  to  come 
from  such  a  heavy,  mournful  face.  Mrs.  Leven's 
face  partook  of  this  same  mournfulness. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Landor;  "it  has  been 
ready  three  days,  but  William  John  and  I  being 
alone,  we  wanted  to  finish  up  the  hay,  and  I  knew 
this  wasn't  goin'  to  hurt." 

"What's  that  stuff  my  girl  was  tellin'  me  about 
that  fellow  that's  livin'  in  my  house  up  there, 
talkin'  to  your  folks?  By  her  tell  I  shouldn't 
think  he  was  safe  to  have  round." 


50  BRITOMART, 

"Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right.  Don't  believe  just 
as  you  and  I  do  about  politics,  but  you  know 
there's  many  a  good  man  don't  do  that." 

"Hey?"  asked  Old  Leven,  in  a  dazed  sort  of 
way.  He  was  a  bit  slow,  and,  as  Britomart  said 
of  him,  he  always  wanted  to  be  sure  he  was  right 
before  he  went  ahead. 

"Why,  I  say  there  are  lots  of  good  men  who 
ain't  republicans." 

"I  don't  know  who  they  air;  I  don't  know 
who  they  air ;  I  never  seen  any  of  'em." 

"Oh,  pshaw !  There's  old  Mr.  Spence,  he  isn't 
a  bad  old  man." 

"I  wouldn't  trust  him  as  far  as  I  could  throw 
a  pig  by  the  tail !"  squealed  Mr.  Leven.  "I  know 
he's  kinder  in  your  family,  but  I  do  say  it,  I 
wouldn't  trust  him,  an'  I  never  seen  a  democrat 
'at  I  would!  If  I'd  a  known  this  feller  was  a 
democrat  I  wouldn't  a  let  him  onto  no  property 
o'  mine !" 

"Oh,  he  ain't  a  democrat." 

"Hey?" 

"He's  no  democrat?" 

"What  is  he,  then?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure." 

"Hey,?" 

"I  say  I  don't  know." 

"My  girl  said  he  give  your  girl  a  book  to 
read." 

"Yes." 

"He  needn't  give  my  girl  no  book  to  read. 
My  girl's  got  suthin'  better  to  do  than  to  set 


THE  SOCIALIST.  51 

an'  read  books.  I  don't  think  it  does  girls  any 
good  to  read.  We've  allers  had  too  much  to  do 
to  our  house  to  be  readin'  books  an'  papers.  He 
needn't  give  none  o'  my  womarn  folks  books. 
That's  the  way  lots  of  mischief  is  done  in  the 
world — lots  of  mischief  is  brought  about  just  by 
this  readin'." 

John  Landor  laughed.  "Well,  Leven,  I  think 
I've  got  an  extra  bright  girl  and  I  love  to  see 
her  with  a  book.  Let  him  lend  her  all  the  books 
he  wants.  He  asked  us  all  to  read  it." 

"Hey?"  asked  old  Leven,  weakly,  but  on  a 
long  sentence  like  this,  Landor  usually  failed  to 
repeat,  and  given  time,  Leven  soaked  it  in  and 
came  to  understand  it  without. 

"Lots  of  mischief  comes  of  this  readin'.  Fust 
thing  you  know,  William  John'll  git  to  turnin' 
democrat.  I  tell  you,  John  Landor,  if  he  should, 
he  couldn't  have  my  girl.  No  girl  o'  mine  shall 
ever  marry  a  democrat!" 

"We'll  have  to  let  the  young  folks  settle  that 
among  themselves,"  said  John  Landor,  with  his 
usual  broad  grin,  as  he  left  the  fence. 

"Hey?" 

"We'll  have  to  let  the  boys  and  girls  fix  that 
up  to  suit  themselves." 

"No,  we  won't,  I  jucks  !  No  girl  of  mine  fixes 
up  anything  with  a  democrat!"  Old  Leven 
went  back  to  his  work  muttering  curses  on  all 
democrats. 

"Britomart  would  'a  said  awful  cute  things 
to  him  if  she'd  a  heard  him,"  chuckled  John 


62  BRITOMART, 

Landor,  as  he  went  back  to  the  field,  and  the 
wicked  old  father  laughed  aloud  in  thinking  of 
the  sarcastic  things  Britomart  would  have  said 
if  old  Leven  had  made  his  complaint  in  her 
hearing ;  but  John  Landor  would  not  needlessly 
hurt  a  fly,  much  less  the  feelings  of  a  neighbor. 

After  tea  Britomart  knew  her  lover  would 
come,  and  she  went  upstairs  in  a  listless  manner 
to  put  a  few  touches  to  her  toilet.  William  John 
was  already  half  way  to  Belleville  on  an  embassy 
to  the  powers  that  governed,  on  behalf  of  Blair 
as  a  boarder.  Blair  had  been  to  tea  and  gone 
back  to  his  cottage  on  the  hill.  He  was  to  come 
back  about  nine  to  learn  the  verdict.  John  Lan 
dor  told  him,  laughing,  that  this  was  mere  form, 
that  Britomart  had  declared  for  him  and  his 
case  was  virtually  won. 

Miller  arrived  in  due  time.  Britomart 
watched  him  coming  up  the  walk.  He  was  a 
stocky,  prosperous-looking  man,  with  a  stubby 
moustache  and  thick  neck,  and  wore  glasses  of 
the  pince-nez  style.  He  swaggered  proudly  up 
the  walk,  fully  aware  that  he  was  conferring  a 
favor  upon  any  woman  by  honoring  her  with  his 
addresses,  especially  a  country  girl,  who  had 
not  the  advantages  of  Belleville  society.  She  re 
pressed  an  inclination  to  shudder.  Her  mother 
had  been  very  much  pleased  when  this  man  be 
gan  to  show  her  attentions.  She  knew  her 
brother  Frank  felt  it  an  honor  that  the  editor  of 
the  Belleville  "Weekly"  should  favor  his  sister. 
William  John  and  her  father  attended  to  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  53 

horse  always,  on  his  arrival,  with  almost  servile 
alacrity.  What  was  she  to  do?  She  knew  what 
the  trouble  was  now-;  since  reading  that  little 
book  she  did  not  want  to  marry  anyone.  She 
wanted  to  live  for  humanity,  to  live  and  work 
for — whom,  for  the  people  ?  She  had  no  in 
centive  to  work  for  the  people.  She  hated  them. 
Such  cattle,  to  be  driven,  coaxed  and  deceived. 
Perhaps  for  revenge  for  the  wrongs  she  had 
suffered.  Whatever  she  wanted,  it  was  not  mar 
riage.  The  idea  was  more  than  ever  abhorrent 
to  her  just  at  present. 

All  unconscious  of  the  difficult  mood  influ 
encing  his  lady-love,  Mr.  Miller  stepped  airily 
into  the  parlor, — of  course,  Britomart  received 
"her  fellow"  in  the  parlor,  in  orthodox  country 
fashion,  blinds  down,  lamp  lighted,  photograph 
album  at  hand. 

"Well,  I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  home  for 
the  next  two  weeks.  Expected  you  couldn't 
keep  away  from  Frank's.  Nice  baby  up  there,  I 
hear?" 

"So  they  tell  me." 

"Don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  seen  it  yet? 
Pshaw  !  I  don't  believe  you.  Women  always  go 
crazy  over  them." 

Britomart  stated  that  she  was  an  exception 
and  that  she  didn't  care  for  children. 

"You'll  get  over  that  when  you  come  to  see 
the  young  man.  Saw  him  myself  this  morning, 
— fine  boy,  I  tell  you.  Frank  is  as  tickled  as  a 
dog  with  two  tails." 


54  BRITOMART, 

Britomart  registered  a  vow  then  and  there, 
that  she  would  guard  against  loving  that  child,  if 
only  to  be  contrary.  It  would  not  be  very  hard, 
she  felt. 

"I  tell  Frank  we  will  be  having  him  running 
for  assemblyman  on  the  republican  ticket,  one 
of  these  days." 

"I  hope  not,"  sighed  Britomart. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Miller.  Then  Britomart 
remembered  a  political  discussion  she  had  once 
listened  to  between  old  Mr.  Spence  and  Miller, 
and  she  wisely  avoided  getting  him  started  on 
his  favorite  theme.  She  declared  she  had  said 
nothing.  Then  Miller  inquired  after  the  har 
vest.  How  was  William  John  and  Tilly  Leven 
coming  on?  He  detailed  a  very  witty  thing  he 
had  perpetrated  on  William  John  down  in 
Frank's  store  the  other  night,  about  keeping 
such  late  hours ;  some  one  asked  how  late,  and 
Miller  answered  'till  eleven.'  By  George !  The 
whole  store  just  roared.  William  John  got  as 
red  as  fire,  but  he  had  to  laugh." 

Just  then.it  dawned  upon  Miller  that  Brito 
mart  was  quieter  than  usual.  He  chucked  her 
under  the  chin  and  asked  her  if  she  was  mad  or 
jealous.  He  was  accustomed  at  about  this 
period  in  his  visits  to  become  a  little  ardent. 

Was  she  dull?  She  did  not  wish  to  appear 
dull.  She  brightened  up  and  related  a  funny 
incident  connected  with  a  little  farm  boy,  who 
was  their  neighbor  on  the  east.  This  set  Miller 
into  a  perfect  avalanche  of  dialect  stories.  He 


THE  SOCIALIST.  55 

prided  himself  on  the  rendition  of  them,  espe 
cially  the  Dutch,  which  Britomart  did  not  con 
sider  him  good  at.  She  laughed  heroically, 
however,  although  she  recognized  many  of 
them  as  clippings  from  Miller's  exchanges.  Oh, 
the  dreariness  of  it!  Would  the  evening  never 
end? 

William  John  returned  and  said  Britomart 
was  to  do  as  she  pleased  about  taking  the 
boarder,  and  he  was  going  to  bed  to  rest  up  for 
a  hard  day's  work  tomorrow.  Miller  warmed 
over  his  old  joke  about  Tilly  Leven,  and  Wil 
liam  John  grinned  obediently. 

"Who  is  this  fellow  William  John  was  speak 
ing  of?"  asked  Miller. 

Britomart  explained. 

"Rented  old  Leven's  house?  Got  a  family? 
No?  Then  what  in  creation  did  he  want  of  a 
house?  What  sort  of  a  looking  tramp  was  he? 
Oh,  a  music  teacher,  eh?"  Well,  that  settled  it 
for  Miller.  "Why  in  creation  didn't  he  come 
down  into  Belleville,  where  there  was  something 
to  do  in  that  line?  Funny  place  for  a  music 
teacher  to  locate,  out  in  a  wheat  field."  Miller 
must  find  out  how  long  he  had  been  in  the  state. 
Perhaps  he  would  be  qualified  to  vote  at  the 
fall  election.  He  must  do  a  little  missionary 
work.  "Expecting  him  tonight?"  All  the  bet 
ter,  he  would  pump  him  a  bit. 

"Please  do  not  talk  politics,"  pleaded  Brito 
mart.  She  felt,  in  some  way,  that  she  was  re 
sponsible  for  Henry  Miller,  his  political  beliefs, 


56  BRITOMART, 

and  intellectual  limitations.  She  knew  what  a 
blusterer  he  was,  and  how  this  keen  Dennis 
Blair,  with  his  all-covering  charity  for  fools, 
would,  nevertheless,  classify  her  lover.  She 
dreaded  the  meeting  on  Blair's  account  also. 
She  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  the  blun 
dering  abuse  Miller  would  undoubtedly  subject 
him  to  as  soon  as  he  discovered  the  stranger's 
politics,  or  lack  of  politics.  Politics  was  Miller's 
stronghold.  /Three-fourths  ,of  his  dingy  flititle 
paper  was  filled  with  his  protestanons  of  regard 
for  the  men  of  his  own  party,  and  what  was  sup 
posed  to  be  telling  sarcasms  against  their  oppo 
nents.  Those  who  were  on  his  side  said,  "Mil 
ler's  pretty  cute.  He  gives  it  to  'em."  Those  of 
the  opposite  persuasion  declared  him  "a  flannel- 
mouth"  of  the  worst  type. 

"Well,  I  know,  as  a  usual  thing,  ladies  aren't 
interested  in  politics ;  but,  you  see,  I  am  always 
wide  awake  to  win  a  vote  on  the  right  side.  So 
you  don't  like  politics?" 

"Not  as  you  talk  it,"  answered  Britomart. 

"Not  as  I  talk  it?    Why?" 

"Because  you  get  abusive." 

Miller  laughed  uproarously.  "Why,  my  dear, 
that's  the  way  every  one  talks  politics." 

Britomart  did  not  answer,  for  at  that  moment 
there  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  next 
instant  she  was  introducing  the  two  men,  and 
waiting  for  the  war  to  begin.  But  it  would  be  a 
relief,  even  a  wordy  war  would  be  a  relief,  to  the 
deadly  monotony  of  the  evening-.  In  her  mind 


THE  SOCIALIST.  57 

she  looked  down  a  long  perspective  of  such 
evenings,  which  led  to  the  grave,  all  spent  in 
this  man's  company. 

"I  can't  do  it!"  She  started.  She  feared  she 
had  spoken  the  words  aloud,  they  were  so 
strongly  in  her  mind.  She  decided  to  keep  Blair 
the  rest  of  the  evening,  until  Miller  went  away, 
if  possible.  He  would  probably  begin  making 
love  to  her  after  Blair's  departure,  and  she  had 
no  wish  to  hear  it — not  tonight,  at  least. 

Miller  was  persistently  pumping  the  stranger 
in  regard  to  his  previous  abode  and  present  busi 
ness.  No  one  can  do  this  in  so  great  perfection 
as  a  country  editor  or  an  inquisitive  old  farmer. 

"Intend  living  here  right  along?" 

''No,  not  right  along." 

"Come  from  Milwaukee?" 

"Not  lately." 

"Live  in  the  state?" 

"Not  in  this  state." 

"Acquainted  in  Chicago?" 

"To  some  extent?" 

How  could  he  expect  to  get  a  class  of  music 
out  in  a  wheat  field?  He  already  had  as  many 
pupils  as  he  could  accommodate.  Miller  rather 
opened  his  eyes  at  this,  and  then  explained  it  by 
simply  regarding  the  man  as  a  liar. 

"I  guess  you  could  take  a  couple  more  if  you 
were  hard  pushed,  couldn't  you  ?"  he  insinuated, 
with  a  very  obvious  wink  at  Britomart.  He 
knew  of  a  couple  who  were  quite  anxious  to  take 
lessons.  Blair  patiently  reiterated  his  avowal 


58  BRITOMART, 

that  he  wished  no  more  pupils.  Miller  presumed 
his^  choosing  an  intensely  republican  section  of 
country  as  an  abiding  place  meant  that  he  was 
sound  on  the  all-important  question  of  tariff. 
Blair  asserted  that  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
and  belief  he  was  sound  on  the  tariff  question. 
Miller  was  going  on  with  the  inquisition,  but 
Blair  turned  to  Britomart. 

"Will  you  favor  us  with  a  little  music,  Miss 
Landor?" 

Britomart,  much  to  Miller's  surprise,  arose  at 
once  and  went  to  the  piano.  She  was  apt  to  be 
stubborn  in  the  matter  of  playing  for  company, 
although  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  troubling  her 
by  fervid  petitions  for  music.  Britomart  at  the 
piano  might  as  well  be  Britomart  asleep, — bet 
ter,  in  fact,  for  that  would  only  be  the  isolation 
of  Britomart,  minus  what  to  Miller  was  a  dis 
agreeable  and  unnecessary  noise.  Music  was,  to 
him,  an  unknown  quantity.  He  often  told  his 
friends  the  only  music  he  could  see  any  beauty 
in  was  Old  Man  Rafter's  fife  and  Jack  Peter's 
drum.  He  liked  to  hear  them  at  the  head  of  a 
torch-light  procession  at  election.  They  stirred 
a  fellow  up. 

Britomart  played  only  such  simple  pieces  as 
she  was  entirely  sure  of.  Blair  listened,  well 
pleased  with  the  girl's  modesty  in  choosing  such 
music  in  the  presence  of  one  whom  she  knew 
to  be  so  much  her  superior  in  the  art.  When 
she  was  through,  without  a  moment's  intermis 
sion,  she  invited  Blair  to  take  her  place,  and  he, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  59 

whether  in  answer  to  an  appealing  look  in  her 
eyes,  or  because  he  felt  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  annoy  Miller,  sat  down  and  played,  wonder 
fully — played  to  Britomart  alone,  forgetting,  af 
ter  a  time,  the  very  presence  of  a  third  person, 
and  Britomart  felt  again  the  same  charm,  the  up 
lifting  ambition,  which  had  come  to  her  before 
while  she'listened  to  his  music. 

Poor  Miller  yawned  openly,  fidgeted  in  his 
chair,  gazed  up  with  a  vacant  air  at  the  picture 
of  the  Sistine  Madonna  and  the  cherubs  who 
loaf  in  the  foreground,  and  wished  he  had  a 
support  for  his  own  chin.  At  last  he  grew  sul 
len.  What  did  Britomart  mean  by  sitting  with 
that  rapt  look  on  her  face,  while  that  "fellow" 
pounded  away?  She  was  putting  it  on,  trying  to 
impress  him  with  her  knowledge  of  something 
which  to  him  was  nothing.  He  would  punish 
her;  he  would  show  her  that  she  must  make 
more  of  an  effort  to  please  him,  and  him  alone, 
if  she  expected  to  retain  his  valuable  attentions ; 
so  he  interrupted  the  music  rather  rudely  by 
saying  that  he  guessed  he  must  be  going.  Per 
haps  he  did  not  recognize  the  look  of  relief  on 
Britomart's  face  as  such,  but  Blair  did,  and  was 
satisfied.  Miller  bade  them  a  very  stiff  good 
evening,  and  took  himself  off,  followed  soon 
after  by  Blair.  Britomart  blew  out  the  lamp  at 
once  for  fear  Miller,  coming  from  the  barn  with 
his  horse,  and  seeing  Blair's  departure,  would 
return  for  an  after  interview.  She  heard  voices, 
and  she  knew  William  John,  in  place  of  going 


60  BRITOMART, 

to  bed,  had  probably  gone  up  to  Leven's,  and 
returning,  been  in  time  to  assist  Miller  with  the 
horse.  She  heard  the  wheels  rattle  across  the  lit 
tle  bridge,  and  soon  after  William  John  came 
up  the  walk  from  the  gate.  Britomart  was  sit 
ting  in  the  door  of  the  dark  parlor. 

"You  went  to  bed  a  heap,"  she  said,  with 
mock  sarcasm.  William  John  laughed  and  sat 
down  for  a  minute's  chat. 

"Father  to  bed?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Miller  went  away  early  tonight,  for  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Britomart,  "and  I'm  glad  of  it ! 
\Villiam  John,  I  hate  him." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Britomart,  don't  talk  so  silly. 
He's  a  good  fellow  and  will  make  a  kind,  sub 
stantial  husband.  Why,  half  the  girls  in  Belle 
ville  would  jump  at  him  for  a  man." 

"Well,  let  them  jump,  then.  I  don't  believe 
I  want  him.  I  don't  want  anybody,  William 
John." 

"That's  silly.  You've  got  to  marry  somebody, 
and  I  don't  know  of  anybody  around  here  I 
would  rather  see  you  have  than  Miller,  for  my 
part.  He's  a  good  fellow  and  quite  well-to-do, 
considering.  Mother  and  father  like  him,  you 
know  that.  I  asked  Frank  what  he  thought  of 
Miller  and  you  one  day,  and  he  said — "  Here 
William  John  paused. 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"Why,  you  know  how  funny  Frank  is.  He 
said — but  what  he  really  meant  was  that  he 


THE  SOCIALIST.  61 

would  be  well  pleased  with  Miller  as  a  brother- 
in-law." 

"But  what  did  he  say?"  persisted  Britomart. 

"He  said,"  laughed  William  John,  "that  he 
suposed  he  would  have  to  do." 

"That's  it,"  said  Britomart,  springing  up  and 
spreading  out  her  hands,  "there's  the  whole' 
thing  in  a  nutshell.  'He'll  have  to  do !'  I've 
got  to  marry  somebody  or  go  to  the  poorhouse, 
and  this  pestilential  Miller  bids  for  me  as  he 
would  for  a  good  buggy  horse — healthy,  young, 
and  reasonably  kind  in  harness.  What  differ 
ence  does  it  make  to  him  if  the  horse  doesn't 
want  him  for  a  master,  so  long  as  he  is  satis 
fied?  I  tell  you,  William  John  Landor,  I  hate 
him,  and  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it.  I  have  tried 
and  tried  to  adjust  myself  and  feel  what  the 
girls  call  love  for  this  man.  I  have  imagined  it 
would  come  to  me  after  a  little.  For  months  I 
have  endured  him  because  mother  and  father 
seemed  so  pleased,  but  tonight  it  came  to  me 
all  at  once  that  I  just  couldn't,  and  that's  all.  I 
shall  never  marry !" 

"But  what  will  become  of  you?"  asked  Wil 
liam  John,  gloomily. 

"I'll  just  come  and  live  with  you  and  Tilly. 
What's  a  brother  for,  I'd  like  to  know  if  not  to 
look  out  for  one."  There  was  a  mischievous 
light  in  her  eyes,  but  William  John  had  can 
vassed  this  dilemma  already  and  now  said,  sober 
ly,  "If  you  and  Tilly  would  only  be  friends,  I 
should  be  only  too  glad  to  take  care  of  you,  but 


62  BR1TOMART, 

she  is  always  saying  that  you  dislike  her.  She 
thinks  you  are  jealous  of  her  good  looks." 

Britomart  laughed  bitterly.  "Perhaps  I  am, 
I  don't  know." 

"She  says  you  abused  her  yesterday  when  she 
came  to  see  you." 

"I  did,"  confessed  Britomart. 

"Well,  what  makes  you  do  it?"  pleaded  Wil 
liam  John,  taking  Britomart's  hand  with  a  broth 
erly  squeeze. 

"Because  she  is  such  a  fool,"  said  Britomart. 

"She  is  no  more  of  a  fool  than  you  are,  Brito 
mart.  Because  she  doesn't  like  just  what  you 
do,  you  call  her  a  fool.  I  think  if  you  are  fond 
of  me  you  ought  to  make  a  sister  of  the  girl  I 
hope  to  marry." 

"But,  William  John,  why  do  you  hope  to 
marry  that  girl?  She  is  not  as  smart  nor  as 
good  as  you.  What  is  there  about  her  which 
attracts  you  ?" 

"Britomart,  a  man  cannot  explain  what  at 
tracts  or  repels  him  in  a  girl,  so  you  ought  just 
to  let  him  have  his  own  way  in  the  marrying 
business,  and  if  his  choice  doesn't  suit,  make  the 
best  of  it." 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  rule  in  the  case 
of  a  girl,  I'd  like  to  know?"  asked  Britomart. 

"Oh,  with  a  girl  it's  different,  you  see.  She 
has  to  take  whoever  comes  for  her,  so  the  rule 
doesn't  apply." 

"There's  one  girl  who  means  to  make  it  apply, 
and  if  she  perishes,  why  then  she  perishes," 


THE  SOCIALIST.  63 

laughed  Britomart.  "Now,  go  to  bed,  and  I 
wouldn't  fret  about  my  wife  and  sister  quarrel 
ing,  if  I  were  you,  not  yet  awhile.  Good-night." 

Britomart  would  have  gone  in,  but  William 
John  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"There  is  one  thing  more  I  want  to  say,"  he 
began,  hesitatingly.  "It's  about  this  Dennis 
Blair.  Don't  let  him  get  a  hold  on  you,  Brito 
mart.  He  is  a  taking  fellow,  I  know  that,  be 
cause  I  can't  help  but  like  him  myself ;  and  with 
his  music,  which  you  love,  and  all,  he  might 
have  more  influence  over  you  than  you  would 
imagine,  and  he  is  a  stranger,  you  know.  We 
don't  know  a  thing  about  him.  He  may  be  a 
burglar,  or  a  man  running  away  from  the  sher 
iff." 

"Are  you  afraid  I  might  be  led  to  break  into 
Spence's  house  some  night  and  steal  that  s,oup- 
ladle  Mrs.  Spence  brought  from  the  old  coun 
try?" 

"Don't  joke  always,  Britomart.  I  can  see 
that  it  is  partly  on  account  of  him  that  you  have 
taken  such  a  sudden  dislike  to  Henry  Miller. 
You  see,  such  things  affect  you  without  your 
knowing  it.  You  heard  him  at  the  piano  play 
ing  lovely  music ;  he  has  nice,  polite  ways — even 
Tilly  noticed  that;  and,  somehow,  I  don't  like 
the  way  he  looks  at  you.  He  doesn't  look  at 
Tilly  that  way,  and  Tilly  is  a — well,  Britomart — 
you  know,  usually,  the  young  men  admire  Tilly 
more  than  they  do  you.  Of  course,  when  they 
come  to  know  vou " 


64  BR1TOMART, 

"Never  mind,"  laughed  Britomart,  "never 
mind,  William  John;  you've  made  it  about  as 
bad  as  you  can.  I  believe  you  are  right  about 
it's  being  the  contrast  between  the  two  men 
which  has  bred  a  stronger  dislike  in  me  for 
Henry  Miller ;  but  you  may  rest  assured  of  one 
thing,  old  William  John — I  had  a  good  lively 
antipathy  for  Henry  Miller  before  I  ever  set 
eyes  on  Dennis  Blair." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  but  I  do  know  that 
I  wish  ma  was  home,  and  that  you  were  down 
to  Frank's,  while  this  fellow  is  boarding  here." 

For  ten  days  regularly  Dennis  Blair  came  for 
dinner,  talked  for  a  half  hour  with  the  farmer 
and  his  children  under  the  Balm  of  Giliad  tree, 
and  went  his  way  in  the  afternoon  when  the 
men  went  to  the  field,  sometimes  walking  with 
them  if  their  wTay  led  toward  the  cottage  in  the 
wheat.  After  awhile  the  wheat  was  cut  and 
stood  in  fragrant  stooks  about  the  house.  Old 
Mr.  Leven  kept  a  curious  eye  on  his  tenant 
while  his  work  kept  him  near  the  house,  but  all 
he  succeeded  in  finding  out  was  that  sometimes, 
though  not  often,  he  lay  in  the  hammock,  strung 
between  the  dwarf  plum  trees,  and  read.  Almost 
always  Spence  saw  him  sitting  at  a  table  with 
many  books  and  pamphlets  about  him,  and  he 
concluded  that  Blair  was  a  very  lazy,  "no  ac 
count"  man.  The  idea  of  a  man  lying  in  the 
hammock,  or  sitting  in  the  house  good  harvest 
weather.  Britomart,  on  the  other  hand,  saw 


THE  SOCIALIST.  65 

traces  of  weariness  in  her  boarder's  face,  and 
knew  that  he  was  working  hard. 

There  was  always  a  cosy  hour  after  supper 
when  she  and  her  father  would  sit  on  the  side 
porch  and  talk  to  Dennis  Blair.  Britomart 
always  counted  those  moments  as  among  the 
happiest  of  her  life.  The  talk  was  always  earn 
est,  and  several  times  lasted  far  into  the  night, 
while  the  crickets,  gay  ne'er-do-weels,  chir 
ruped,  reckless  of  coming  winter,  and  across  the 
road  in  the  woods,  a  whip-poor-will  complained 
to  the  stars.  These  two  men  and  this  woman 
talked  of  the  great  social  problems  which  are 
pressing  themselves  upon  us  for  solution — 
which  must  be  solved,  and  solved  soon  if  the 
Republic  stands ;  which  will  be  solved  by  the 
intelligence  of  the  people  of  America,  to  the 
astonishment  of  older  countries.  It  has  solved 
other  and  apparently  harder  problems  before. 
The  farmer  and  his  daughter  listened  to  this 
man  who  had  given  his  life  to  the  study  of  tfie 
problem,  the  girl  ardently,  the  old  man  acknowl 
edging  his  ignorance;  and  the  student,  feeling 
that  here  was  intelligence  worthy  his  best  en 
deavors,  talked  as  few  men  are  given  the  power 
to  talk,  even  though,  like  him,  they  have  the 
convincing  element  of  truth  on  their  side.  To 
these  two  he  gave  a  foretaste  of  the  eloquence, 
the  cutting  sarcasm,  the  brilliant  wit  and  quick 
powers  of  repartee,  of  which,  at  the  time,  the 
world  knew  little,  but  which  it  felt  in  after  years, 
and  by  which  it  was  swayed  as  genius  always 


66  BRITOMART, 

sways  the  world.  At  times  Britomart  would 
feel  the  blood  tingle  to  her  fingers'  ends,  as  the 
ring  of  his  sharp,  incisive  arguments  struck  an 
answering  chord  of  conviction  in  her  own  soul, 
and  she  would  cry:  "It  is  true,  father,  every 
word  is  true !"  and  the  old  man  would  respond, 
"You  are  right,  Britomart,  it  is  true,  and  I  have 
been  too  busy,  too  hard  driven,  to  take  the  time 
to  study  it  out." 

"This  is  as  the  demagogues  would  have  it," 
responded  Blair.  "Every  laboring  man  who 
comes  to  understand  this  question  is  a  discord 
in  their  music,  because  their  motto  is  the  one 
Jay  Gould  made  famous,  'Damn  the  people!' 
There  is  but  one  hope  for  us — in  the  voter. 
There  is  but  one  hope  for  the  voter,  and  that 
hope  is  knowledge.  To  spread  the  gospel  of 
Socialism  is  every  man's  first  duty,  for  the  sake 
of  unborn  generations.  In  order  to  understand 
it  aright  one  must  think  and  one  must  read. 
But  the  laboring  man  of  today  has  no  time — no 
inclination  to  do  this.  He  will  not  read  books, 
but  he  will  read  papers,  light,  catchy  articles, 
which  do  not  absorb  too  much  of  his  time  or 
thought.  Unfortunately  the  great  power  of  the 
press  is  arrayed  on  the  other  side.  A  man  must 
be  well  up  in  the  million  mark  before  he  can 
become  a  power  in  the  newspaper  world,  and 
what  cares  a  millionaire  for  the  groans  of  the 
victims  being  slowly  crushed  between  the  upper 
and  the  nether  millstone  of  monopoly  and  com 
petition?  He  is  safe,  his  bones  do  not  crackle. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  67 

The  working  man  will  listen  to  that  target  of 
many  curses,  the  agitator,  as  he  harangues  his 
audience  on  the  street  corner.  He  is  apt  to  get 
a  shower  of  stones  or  gutter  slime  of  any  sort' 
for  his  pains,  but  if  his  heart  is  in  the  cause,  he 
remembers  that  Christ,  the  Socialist  without 
peer,  the  first,  the  best,  the  laborer  who  spoke 
for  laborers,  suffered  the  same  indignities  at  the 
hands  of  stolidity  and  ignorance,  yet  with  divine 
patience  turned  the  other  cheek,  enduring  even 
to  death  for  the  people  whom  he  loved. 

nBut  the  labor-world  will  learn — has  already 
learned  much.  You  farmers,  who  feel  the  press 
ure  in  a  less  degree  than  the  laborers  in«the  city, 
because  your  children  do  not  die  before  your 
eyes  for  want  of  food  and  God's  sunlight,  and 
because  the  echoes  you  get  of  the  struggle  are 
through  the  medium  of  a  servile  press — the 
vaunted  free  press  of  America — you  are  less 
teachable  than  they  who  suffer  more.  Injustice 
has  come  to  you  so  gradually,  so  coyly,  that  you 
do  not  call  it  by  its  right  name.  You  designate 
it  as  over-production  in  the  west,  or  election 
year,  or  some  other  cause  which  gives  you  poor 
pay  for  your  hard  labor.  Vou  know  times  are 
hard  and  you  are  seeking  a  remedy.  When  the 
fall  election  comes  men  will  mount  the  stump 
and  promise  remedies  if  you  will  only  vote  their 
way.  This  fall  it  will  be  the  tariff.  When  the 
tariff  is  adjusted  good  times  will  come  again. 
You  say  these  men  are  great  statesmen,  that 
they  have  made  a  study  of  this  matter — they 


68  BRITOMART, 

know.  It  must  be  the  tariff,  and  so  they  deceive 
you  and  put  you  off  for  another  term  of  years, 
and  you  fail  to  note  that  good  times  never  come 
back  in  all  their  golden  glory;  a  little  brighten 
ing  here  and  there,  to  be  sure,  a  slight  lifting 
of  the  cloud,  only  to  settle  deeper  and  blacker 
than  before.  You  work,  you  sweat,  you  pro 
duce.  One-half  of  your  profit  goes  to  the  trans 
portation  company,  the  greater  share  of  the  rest 
to  the  gambler  in  wheat,  and  you — you  are 
granted  your  sustenance  ;  you  are  kindly  allowed 
as  are  their  horses,  enough  to  keep  you  alive 
and  strong  to  labor  for  them  another  year. 
Your  last  really  good  times,  when  you  felt  you 
had  an  adequate  return  for  the  labor  you  accom 
plished,  have  come  and  gone,  until  a  change  in 
the  system  is  brought  about,  until  the  popular 
vote  is  educated  above  wasting  its  power  in 
opposing  parties  divided  on  issues  long  dead,  of 
no  real  account  save  as  a  war  cry  for  the  parties. 
For  instance,  your  tariff  issue  this  fall,  a  cloud 
in  the  sky  upon  which  you  are  invited  to  fix? 
your  eyes  while  the  vampire  monopoly  sucks 
your  blood  unheeded.  Unless  there  are  chosen 
ones  to  carry  this  message  to  the  people  most 
interested,  unless  there  are  brave  men  and  wo 
men  ready  to  sacrifice  their  lives  in  directing  the 
labor  forces  aright,  in  securing  harmony  among 
those  who  already  realize  the  urgency  of  the 
labor  problem,  in  arousing  the  intelligent  class, 
who  do  not  as  yet  feel  the  hardest  pressure,  in 
changing  public  opinion  and  bringing  it  to  bear 


THE  SOCIALIST.  69 

upon  the  evils  of  capitalism,  unless  there  are 
those  who  are  willing  to  do  this,  taking  as  their 
pay  abuse,  and  realizing  that  they  will  not  live 
to  see  the  full  fruitage  of  their  life  work,  then 
must  liberty  become  an  empty  word,  and  the 
sun  of  American  greatness  set  in  darkness  as 
did  -those  of  Rome,  Greece,  and  every  country 
that  has  made  Mammon  god  and  sacrificed  the 
masses  to  its  idol." 

William  John  was  not  usually  present  during 
the  talks  on  the  side  steps.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  spending  his  evenings  with  Tilly.  Once  Tilly 
had  come  to  the  Landers'  to  see  Britomart,  and 
although  Britomart  was  kinder  to  her  than 
usual,  she  found  her  listening  to  what  she  con 
sidered  a  foolish  argument  about  nothing,  very 
dry  indeed,  and  did  not  come  any  more,  prefer 
ring  to  have  William  John  come  to  her  home. 

One  evening  Blair  brought  a  violin  with  him, 
and  instead  of  talking  politics,  they  spent  the 
evening  listening  to  its  music,  Britomart  accom 
panying  on  the  piano.  William  John  and  his 
father  sat  on  the  stone  platform  in  front  of  the 
parlor  door.  William  John  was  charmed.  He 
loved  music,  and  his  ear  was  fine  enough  to 
assure  him  that  such  music  as  this  was  not  an 
every-day  occurrence  about  Belleville.  He  did 
not,  however,  approve  of  the  influence  the 
stranger  was  obtaining  over  his  sister,  and  it 
was  by  his  advice  that  Mrs.  Landor  came  home, 
detailing  Britomart  as  supply  in  her  place  at 
Frank's. 


70  BRITOMART, 

Britomart  was  sullen  when  she  learned  of  the 
arrangement.  It  would  take  her  away  from  her 
beloved  music.  Her  lessons  had  begun  in  good 
earnest.  She  would  have  no  time  for  the  books 
Blair  gave  her.  Miller  would  begin  haunting 
her  again — he  had  been  giving  her  a  terrible 
lesson  by  totally  ignoring  her,  and  she  had 
almost  forgotten  him ;  and,  more  than  that,  she 
was  afraid  of  growing  to  love  Frank's  baby, 
and  that  she  was  bound  not  to  do.  And  after 
all  she  was  defeated  in  the  very  first  encounter, 
for  when  Mary  laid  the  little  bundle  in  her  arms, 
with  an  anxious  though  covert  look  of  inquiry 
in  regard  to  how  Britomart  would  receive  the 
baby,  her  mother-heart  was  not  disappointed. 

"You  little  rascal !"  said  Britomart,  hugging 
him  close,  and  kissing  his  funny,  wrinkled 
little  mouth,  "you  have  no  business  here  in  this 
hard  world,  and  I  was  mad  enough  when  I  knew 
you  were  coming,  but  now  that  you  are  here, 
we'll  all  turn  in  and  make  things  as  easy  for  you 
as  possible,  I  suppose." 

"Until  you  forget  all  about  him  in  caring  for 
your  own,"  laughed  Mary. 

Then,  standing  there,  tall  and  beautiful,  with 
the  child  in  her  arms,  its  long  white  dress  shin 
ing  against  her  black  one,  Madonna-like  in  her 
seriousness,  Britomart  uttered  a  prophecy  and 
a  promise.  "Mary,  I  shall  never  have  a  child  of 
my  own ;  but,  please  God,  my  arms  shall  reach 
wide  enough  to  embrace,  and  my  heart  shall  be 
large  enough  to  love  as  many  disinherited  little 


THE  SOCIALIST.  71 

ones  as  one  poor  woman  may  reach,  who,  lilce 
Mr.  Bumpy  here,  have  been  dispoiled  of  their 
rights  before  their  birth." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Britomart,  but  I'm  sure  you  will  marry  and  have 
children  of  your  own — little  Millers." 

There  was  an  expression  of  disgust  on  Brito- 
mart's  face. 

"Well,  then,  some  other  name.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  not  liking  that  man.  I  can't  bear  him. 
I  get  so  sick  of  his  political  clack  in  the  store, 
but  I  can  say  if  you  never  know  how  nice  it 
is  to  have  a  home,  even  a  poor  little  cramped 
one  like  this,  behind  a  village  store,  and  a  hus 
band  and  children,  you  have  missed  the  sweetest 
thing  in  life." 

"I  don't  doubt  that,  my  dear,"  assented  Brito 
mart,  still  playing  with  Sir  Bumpy's  little  hand 
and  cuddling  the  downy  cheek  on  her  neck. 

Frank  came  in  and  sat  down  to  tea  with  a  sigh. 

"And  I  don't  understand  you  when  you  say 
that  Bumpy  was  disinherited  before  he  was  born. 
Poor  child  didn't  have  much  of  an  inheritance, 
I'm  sure — just  the  chance  to  earn  his  living  by 
hard  work,  as  his  father  and  mother  has." 

"That  is  all  he  demands.  He  certainly  has  the 
right,  being  in  the  world  through  no  fault  of 
his  own,  to  gain  some  of  the  good  things  of 
which  this  world  is  full,  if  he  is  willing  to  work 
for  them,  but  in  place  of  this  he  will,  in  all  proba 
bility,  be  obliged  to  cringe  and  beg  for  the  privi 
lege  of  earning  a  bare  subsistence." 


7J  BRITOMART, 

"Oh,  Britomart,  don't  talk  that  way;  you 
frighten  me,"  said  Mary. 

"How  is  it,  Frank,  are  you  earning  more  than 
enough  to  feed  your  flock  comfortably  ?" 

Frank's  careworn  face  took  on  the  look  of 
despair  his  wife  knew  only  too  well  of  late. 

"I  have  been  looking  over  my  books  this 
afternoon,  and  I  find  I  have  made,  as  wages,  out 
side  of  expenses  and  wholesale  bills,  just  forty 
eight  cents  per  day  during  the  last  year." 

"Ah,  then,  you  have  been  lazy  and  have  not 
worked." 

"Worked !"  said  Frank,  and  his  voice  trem 
bled;  "I  have  worked  hard  enough  to  have 
earned  eighteen  dollars  per  day;  but  as  a  man 
said  in  my  store  last  night,  the  day  of  making 
a  living  at  small  store-keeping  in  country  towns 
is  over  forever." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Mrs.  Spence,  who  was  staying  with  Mary  for 
a  couple  of  days,  took  the  baby  away  from  Brito- 
mart. 

"Aunt  Britomart  shan't  talk  so  about  the  little 
man.  He's  got  as  good  a  right  to  live  as  any 
body,  and  he  shan't  be  called  Bumpy,  for  he  has 
a  pretty  name.  He  is  named  Robert  John,  after 
his  dear  grandpa." 

"Bumpy,"  laughed  Frank;  "it  just  suits  him!" 

"You've  done  it,  Britomart  Landor !"  cried 
Mary.  "I'll  warrant  that  child  will  be  Bumpy 
all  his  life !" 

And  he  was.  Even  his  grandma  Spence,  after 
a  heroic  struggle,  adopted  the  nick  name.  As 
the  child  grew  older  the  name  proved  appro 
priate.  Many  times  a  day  Frank  and  Mary 
were  called  upon  to  examine  the  tow  head,  to 
see  if  the  damage  was  beyond  repair,  and  the 
saying,  "Bumpy  Landor  is  down  again,"  came 
to  be  a  familiar  expression  in  the  neighborhood. 

Mrs.  Spence  was  a  sweet  woman  with  snow 
white  hair,  and  a  worn,  melancholy  face — a  face 
which  must  have  had  a  dignified  beauty  in  youth. 
It  bore  the  print  of  disappointment  and  blighted 
hopes,  and  it  was  no  wonder,  for  the  woman 
had  married  a  man  far  inferior  in  every  respect, 
and  though  no  one  in  the  world  knew  it  save 
herself,  her  life  had  been  one  long  tragedy  of 
crushed  ideals  and  hard,  uncongenial  toil.  Her 


74  BRITOMART, 

daughter  Mary  was  the  one  bright  spot  in  it, 
and  she  pitied  a  childless  woman  above  any  one 
else  in  the  world.  She  could  not  understand 
that  a  woman's  husband  might  be  more  to  her 
than  children,  that  a  realized  dream  of  ambition 
might  fill  a  great  heart  quite  as  effectually  as  a 
family. 

"There  is  another  thing  I  am  going  to  scold 
you  about,  Britomart,"  she  said,  with  an  affec 
tionate  smile  at  the  girl. 

"Go  ahead,  Mrs.  Spence,"  answered  Brito 
mart;  "your  scoldings  are  like  mother's.  One 
can  shed  them  as  a  duck  sheds  water." 

"It  is  this :  You  must  not  talk  to  Frank  as 
though  he  would  never  get  along  any  better  in 
his  business.  You  must  remember  small  begin 
nings  make  great  endings.  Other  people  have 
made  comfortable  little  fortunes  by  keeping 
store  in  a  country  town,  and  what  has  been  done 
in  the  past  may  be  done  again." 

"But  it  can't,"  said  Britomart.  "It  ought  to 
be  possible,  but  it  is  not,  nor  will  it  ever  be." 

"She  is  right,  I  believe,"  sighed  Frank.  "Those 
fortunes  were  made  before  such  firms  as  Mont 
gomery  Ward  and  Co.  of  Chicago,  and  hun 
dreds  of  others  like  them,  came  into  existence. 
That  was  a  good  example  this  afternoon,  when 
you  were  in  the  store.  I  tried  to  sell  that  Distan 
saw  to  a  man  and  was  about  to  close  the  bar 
gain,  when  a  neighbor  of  his  came  in  and  told 
him  he  could  get  it  a  quarter  cheaper  by  sending 
to  Montgomery  Ward  for  it.  I  tried  to  wriggle 


THE  SOCIALIST.  75 

out  of  it,  but  there  was  no  heart  in  my  argument, 
because  I  knew  the  man  told  the  truth.  Mont 
gomery  Ward  and  Co.  can  sell  that  saw  cheaper 
than  I,  the  best  I  can  do." 

"You  must  be  content  with  smaller  profits, 
then,"  said  Mrs.  Spence. 

"My  dear  woman,  I  have  actually  to  pay  the 
same  price  to  the  jobbers  for  that  saw  which 
Montgomery  Ward  charges  the  farmer  for  it." 

"Then  how  is  it?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place  their  trade  is  all  cash 
— no  bad  debts  to  subtract  from  the  profits ; 
then  they  buy  the  Distan  saw  by  the  thousands ; 
the  manufacturers  know  on  which  side  their 
bread  is  buttered  and  look  out  that  they  are  not 
troubled  by  competition  in  prices  among  the 
smaller  jobbers.  It  is  not  hardware  alone;  it 
is  groceries,  dry  goods,  everything.  Mr.  Smith 
told  me  yesterday  he  had  put  the  last  line  of 
dress  goods  on  his  shelves  that  he  will  ever  pur 
chase,  because  there  is  positively  no  use.  They 
He  there  and  go  out  of  date,  and  have  to  be  sold 
far  below  cost  at  last,  while  his  customers  go 
about  with  purses  full  of  samples  from  Marshall 
Field,  or  big  New  York  firms,  from  which  they 
make  their  selections.  The  grocery  men  thought 
they  were  safe,  because  groceries '  were  com 
modities  which,  when  wanted,  were  wanted' im 
mediately  and  in  small  quantities,  but  they  find 
they  are  not  exempt.  People  buy  sugar,  tea, 
coffee,  flour,  and  so  forth,  in  bulk,  getting  a 
splendid  reduction  by  so  doing,  while  the  cus- 


76  BRITOMART, 

tomers  who  are  forced  to  our  doors  either  buy 
on  credit  or  call  for  some  unusual  article  which 
might  not  be  demanded  of  a  village  storekeeper 
once  in  ten  years,  and  which,  of  course,  we  do 
not  have  in  stock.  Then  the  customer  goes 
away  grumbling  that  you  can  never  get  anything 
you  want  in  a  small  town,  while  my  staple  goods 
grow. musty  in  the  barrels." 

"Oh,  Frank,"  cried  Britomart,  "my  heart 
aches  for  you,  not  only  as  a  brother  but  as  a 
dealer,  because  I  realize  that  you,  and  all  of  your 
class,  will  be  crowded  out  of  existence,  and  there 
is  no  help  for  you.  It  is  best — it  is  the  inevitable 
march  of  progress ;  but,  oh !  the  process,  the 
crowding,  the  crushing,  the  dying  out  of  hope, 
the  grasping  at  straws  by  the  drowning!  But 
it  must  come  before  we  learn  to  turn  our  backs 
on  the  old  system  and  preach  the  doctrine  of 
Socialism." 

"Britomart !"  The  exclamation  came  from 
Mrs.  Spence.  She  had  risen  with  the  baby  in 
her  arms.  Her  wrinkled  face,  lovely  yet  beneath 
her  white  hair,  was  pale  with  emotion.  "How 
dare  you  talk  like  that  to  your  brother,  a  law- 
abiding,  God-fearing  citizen !  If  he  has  trials 
and  business  disappointments,  it  is  no  more  than 
every  young  man  has,  and  it  is  wicked  to  talk 
like  that.  God  knows  what  is  best  for  him,  and 
if  he  remains  an  honest  man  will  take  care  of 
him  and  his  family.  What  did  Brother  Granby 
say  in  his  sermon  last  Sunday  morning?  Obey 
God,  and  ask  no  questions." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  77 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Spence,  if  Brother  Granby  preached 
such  a  sermon  I  don't  believe  he  found  his  text 
in  the  Bible.  Ask  no  questions?  We  have 
been  following  that  rule  too  long.  We  suffer 
but  sigh  piously  and  say  it  is  God's  will,  when 
it  is  not  God's  will.  It  is  the  will  of  the  gods 
of  Ignorance  and  Cupidity.  If  it  were  God's 
will  for  us  to  ask  no  questions,  why  did  He  give 
us  reasoning  powers?  Why  did  He  plant  an 
everlasting  interrogation  point  in  the  heart  of 
an  ignorant  country  girl  like  myself,  making  me 
ask,  ask,  ask,  although  until  of  late  I  received 
no  answer.  I  asked  why  my  father  toiled  ever 
and  always,  only  to  near  the  end  of  life  poorer 
than  he  began,  on  a  glorious  farm,  raising  good 
crops  every  year,  yet  burdened  with  a  mortgage 
which  covers  it  from  line  to  line;  why  Mr. 
Spence  was  in  the  same  predicament;  why  my 
brother  Frank,  industrious,  honest,  intelligent, 
cannot  make  both  ends  meet  in  a  country  store ; 
why  my  brother  Paul,  who  has  spent  his  time 
learning  a  trade,  is  half  the  time  out  of  work, 
until  he  is  becoming  a  misanthrope,  and  in  dan 
ger  of  going  to  the  bad?  I  have  asked  these 
questions  over  and  over  with  hate  and  rancor 
in  my  heart,  and  until  within  the  last  few  days 
no  one  has  answered.  When  I  thought  of  our 
wrongs  here,  and  read  of  those  of  the  laborers 
in  the  great  cities,  beside  which  our  own  as  yet 
are  trivial,  in  my  ignorance  I  was  coming  to 
believe  with  my  brother  Paul,  that  the  human 
race  was  a  mistake,  and  that  God,  like  Nero, 


78  BRITOMART, 

was  fond  of  seeing  his  people  suffer.  Why,  Mrs. 
Spence,  although  I  sat  every  Sunday  under 
Brother  Granby's  teaching,  I  was  getting  to  be 
the  worst  heathen  in  Green  county.  I  could 
not  assimilate  his  theories  of  God's  eternal  love, 
and  the  love  of  one  Christian  for  another,  be 
cause  of  that  burning  interrogation  mark  in  my 
heart.  Why,  if  God  so  loved  the  world,  had  He 
not  given  the  poor  a  way  out  of  their  dilemma  ? 
Why  were  not  all  professed  followers  of  the 
gentle  Man  of  Sorrows  eager  to  settle  the  great 
question,  the  awful  question,  of  the  rights  of 
man  to  the  means  of  existence  ?  Why,  and  why, 
and  why! — always  the  question,  but  never  an 
answer,  until  Ihe  last  few  days ;  and  then  it  was 
not  Brother  Granby  who  answered." 

"Who  was  it,  Britomart,"  asked  Frank,  "who 
answered  your  question  so  lately?" 

"Dennis  Blair,  the  Socialist." 

"If  you  were  my  daughter,  Britomart,  I  should 
see  that  Dennis  Blair,  the  Socialist,  or  any  other 
lawless  tramp,  should  never  again  have  a  chance 
to  addle  your  head  with  such  wickedness  !  What 
has  your  father  been  about,  I  want  to  know,  to 
let  you  fall  into  the  company  of  such  a  person  ?" 

Britomart  came  across  the  room  and  throwing 
herself  upon  the  stool  at  Mrs.  Spence's  side, 
drew  her  unincumbered  arm  about  her  neck, 
saying  with  a  laugh :  "Play  I  am  your  daughter, 
Mrs.  Spence.  Say  it  is  Mary  who  has  uttered 
such  awful  words.  If  it  were  Mary  you  might 
disapprove,  you  might  deplore  the  fact  of  her 


THE  SOCIALIST.  79 

turning  Socialist ;  but  you  wouldn't  stop  loving 
her.  That  is  all  I  ask." 

Mrs.  Spence  did  not  remove  her  arm.  "Well, 
if  you  were  Mary,  I  should  say  you  were  out  of 
your  place  in  setting  yourself  up  to  know  more 
than  your  parents.  I  should  say  you  could  ex 
pect  nothing  better  than  to  be  led  astray  and 
made  a  fool  of  if  you  would  persist  in  meddling 
with  things  which  are  none  of  your  business. 
Leave  such  matters  to  your  father  and  brothers, 
child.  A  woman — a  girl,  has  no  business  trying 
to  understand  them." 

"And  if  I  were  Mary  I  should  say:  'Mother, 
dear,  every  woman  in  the  world,  did  she  but  un 
derstand  the  question,  would  be  a  Socialist.  I 
would  say  men  have  suffered  under  the  existing 
sysjtem,  but  their  sufferings  are  not  to  be  com 
pared  with  those  of  women  from  the  same  cause. 
I  should  answer,  under  the  reign  of  Socialism 
no  woman  would  need  sell  her  virtue  for  bread — 
not  one!'  How  much  prostitution  would  be 
done  away  with !" 

"If  you  were  Mary  I  should  say,  I  do  not  like 
to  hear  such  words  on  the  lips  of  my  daughter." 

"And  I  would  answer,  'Rather  on  the  pure 
lips  of  your  daughter,  where  they  can  harm  no 
one,  than  in  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  poor 
girls  on  the  streets  of  the  cities,  to  whom  there 
is  no  other  answer  to  the  riddle  of  life.'  We 
have  been  fine  too  long;  we  have  avoided  the 
word,  yet  tolerated  the  deed,  too  ignorant  and' 
indolent  to  study  out  the  remedy.  We  have 


80  BRITOMART, 

gone  about  sleepily  instituting  homes  for  the 
fallen,  and  letting  the  other  sex  deprive  us  of 
the  power  rightfully  belonging  to  us  at  the  ballot 
to  exterminate  sin." 

"She  is  right,  mother,"  broke  in  Frank. 
You  say  she  might  better  have  left  it  to  her 
father  and  brothers  to  study  out  the  question. 
I  have  been  thinking  on  this  subject  a  good  deal 
of  late,  since  this  Dennis  Blair  has  been  in  my 
store,  but  I  acknowledge  I  have  a  thicker  skull 
and  a  tougher  heart  than  Britomart,  here.  Like 
a  man,  I  must  needs  reason  it  out  slowly,  while 
Britomart,  womanlike,  reaches  her  conclusions 
by  instinct  and  fits  the  reasons  in  afterwards. 
As  for  Blair,  he  seems  a  gentleman  through  and 
through.  I  don't  think  he  is  a  man  who  would 
attempt  to  inculcate  his  ideas  into  the  brains  of 
young  people  surreptitiously  or  against  their 
parents'  consent." 

"Parents'  consent!"  laughed  Britomart.  "Why, 
father  is  a  stronger  convert  even  than  I.  Ask 
him.  I  never  talked  a  moment  on  the  subject 
with  Dennis  Blair  alone.  Ask  father,  Frank. 
But  what  if  I  had?  I  am  no  fool,  neither  am  I 
a  child,  that  I  cannot  look  the  stern  facts  of  the 
world  in  the  face  and  judge  for  myself.  I  am 
twenty-three  years  old,  and  Tilly  Leven  consid 
ers  me  far  gone  in  old-maidism ;  and  I  resent 
the  insinuation  that  because  I  am  a  woman  and 
unmarried,  my  judgment  is  inferior." 
.  "I  have  seen  this  man  Blair;  he  has  been  in 
my  store  a  number  of  times.  He  has  spoken  of 


THE  SOCIALIST.  81 

the  decay  of  the  small  industries,  but  never  a 
word  to  lead  me  to  think  him  a  Socialist." 

"I  remember  you  told  me  about  him,"  said 
Mary. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  two  young  women 
were  alone,  or  with  no  one  in  the  room  with 
them  but  Sir  Bumpy,  grunting  and  gurgling 
over  a  little  red  fist,  which  he  seemed  deter 
mined  to  devour,  Mary  confessed  to  Britomart 
that  she  believed  she  herself  was  more  than  half 
Socialist,  but  did  not  want  her  mother  and  father 
to  know  it,  at  least  not  until  she  could  explain 
the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  the  girls  laughed 
together  at  the  idea  of  being  converted  to  some 
thing  before  you  could  give  the  definition  of  it. 

''I  don't  know  what  Socialism  is,  Britomart, 
but  I  do  know  what  poverty  is,  and  I  am  afraid 
if  this  goes  on  much  longer  my  acquaintance  will 
be  even  closer.  Frank  is  losing  money  every 
day,  and,  poor  fellow,  is  so  blue  I  am  sorry  for 
him.  Now  that  mother  is  here,  I  want  you  to 
go  into  the  store  and  help  him  if  you  will,  and 
for  goodness  sake  stay  as  long  as  you  can ;  that's 
a  good  girl.  It  seems  somehow  as  though  you 
were  going  to  help  us  out  of  the  muddle  we 
are  in." 

Accordingly  Britomart  went  into  the  store, 
and  patiently  put  up  paper  parcels  containing 
sugar,  calico,  nails  or  honey.  Every  night  a 
dozen  men,  more  or  less,  gathered  in  the  center 
of  the  store  to  discuss  the  coming  election.  Sat 
urday  night  was  always  a  noisy  night.  The  fall 


82  BRITOMART, 

campaign  was  already  casting  its  ominous 
shadow  athwart  the  political  horizon,  albeit  so 
early,  and  Henry  Miller,  backed  by  three  or  four 
strong  republicans,  upheld  by  the  proprietor,  his 
father  and  brother,  made  a  stern  fight  against 
Old  Man  Spence,  aided  and  abetted  by  Jake 
Flatterbush. 

The  Saturday  on  which  Britomart  assisted  as 
clerk,  this  last  named  gentleman  arrived  first 
on  the  field  of  battle.  He  was  a  rough-looking 
individual  of  about  forty,  a  bachelor,  and  a  hard 
and  bitter  democrat.  He  had  never  acquired  the 
accomplishment  of  writing,  but  he  could  spell 
out  the  local  news  in  the  Belleville  "Weekly" 
with  more  or  less  proficiency.  Old  Man  Spence 
was  his  oracle  on  all  occasions,  and  the  source 
of  his  political  statistics.  There  were  very  few 
democrats  in  Belleville,  it  being  a  strong  repub 
lican  community. 

Britomart  was  sorry  to  see  Flatterbush  com 
ing  in,  because  she  knew  Henry  Miller  would 
arrive  soon,  and  she  hated  to  witness  the  ordeal 
of  bear-baiting  which  Miller  loved  to  impose  upon 
Jake.  He  took  great  delight  in  nagging  Jake, 
and  unless  Old  Man  Spence  was  at  hand  Jake 
had  no  convincing  arguments  with  which  to  do 
battle,  save  a  ferocious  glare,  muttered  oaths 
and  personal  abuse,  that  went  far  above  Miller's 
head,  and  only  served  to  enhance  his  glorious 
victory. 

"Evening,  Britomart.  Who's  buying  salt  ?  Is 
it  you,  Jake  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it ; 


THE  SOCIALIST.  83 

make  a  brine  to  keep  the  democratic  party  from 
spoiling?" 

Just  then  Old  Man  Spence  came  in  from  the 
living  room  behind,  where  he  had  been  worship 
ing  at  the  shrine  of  his  grandson.  He  was  Mil 
ler's  sworn  antagonist. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jake?"  he  asked,  taking 
a  fresh  cheekful  of  plug  tobacco,  loading  his 
heavy  guns,  so  to  speak,  for  the  active  engage 
ment  he  saw  just  ahead. 

"Oh,  nothin'  much,  only  our  editor's  got  on 
one  of  his  funny  fits." 

"Well,  you  mustn't  say  anything,"  responded 
Old  Man  Spence,  with  a  wink  and  a  backward 
movement  of  his  thumb ;  "his  girl's  here." 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  Miller,  feeling  that  he 
had  said  a  good  thing,  "Jake's  buying  salt  to  pre 
serve  his  party.  He's  afraid  old  Grover  is  going 
to  spoil.  I  heard  a  fellow  say  yesterday  that 
there  wasn't  but  one  thing  in  the  world  he 
wouldn't  rather  be  than  a  democrat,  and  that 
was  a  dead  man." 

"Yes  ?  Well,  I  don't  think  the  democrats  are 
all  going  to  set  down  and  cry  on  account  of  the 
loss  of  that  kind  of  a  man,"  responded  Old 
Spence,  firing  a  shot  at  the  spittoon  that  hit  the 
bull's  eye  at  a  distance  of  six  feet,  announcing 
with  certainty  that  the  battle  was  on. 

"I  told  him  he  wouldn't  find  many  of  'em  in 
this  town — only  about  ten  of  'em,  now  that  Bid 
Leeklaw  has  turned  populist.  Here's  Bid  now. 
Hello,  Bid,  just  talking  about  you,  Bid ;  just  say- 


84  BRITOMART, 

in'  you  was  the  only  populist  in  town,  I  guessed. 
Say,  have  to  let  your  whiskers  grow,  won't  you  ?" 
Bid  Leeklaw  found  a  spare  place  against  which 
to  rest  his  shoulders,  and  responded  that  he 
didn't  know  it  was  necessary  to  let  his  whiskers 
grow  to  become  a  populist,  but  he  was  obliged 
to  let  his  brains  grow  before  he  knew  enough 
to  be  one. 

"Yes,  I'm  the  only  populist  in  town,"  he  fin 
ished;  "but  there's  coming  a  day  when  there'll 
be  more,  there'll  be  more." 

"I  hope  not,  I  hope  not,  Bid,"  said  Miller, 
looking  around  for  the  laugh  which  he  knew  this 
sally  would  bring.  There  was  quite  an  audience 
by  this  time.  "I  think  one  of  your  kind  is  a 
plenty  for  a  small  town  like  Belleville." 

Miller  was  rewarded  by  the  applause  he  had 
expected. 

"That's  right,"  responded  Leeklaw;  "I  ain't 
much  of  a  feller,  I'll  admit,  "and  he  glanced  down 
at  a  coat  both  ragged  and  dirty,  and  a  pair  of 
boots  which  were  red  and  wrinkled  by  contact 
with  the  soil.  "No,  I'm  a  bad  lot,  me  and  my 
kind.  What  we  need  in  town  is  a  few  more 
smart  editors  to  show  the  folks  which  way  to 
vote." 

Nobody  laughed  at  this  except  Jake  Flatter- 
bush,  who  had  a  tender  feeling  for  his  old  col 
league  at  times,  although  he  considered  that  he 
had  fallen  from  grace  by  going  back  on  his  party 
and  turning  populist. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  85 

"More  smart  editors,  to  tell  us  how  to  ward 
off  hard  times." 

Old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leven  came  in,  and  Mrs. 
Leven  proceeded  to  the  back  of  the  store  to  pur 
chase  groceries,  while  her  husband  joined  the 
group  about  the  spittoon  in  time  to  hear  Miller's 
answer  to  Leeklaw's  sarcasm. 

"Hard  times,  hard  times!"  said  Miller.  "All 
you  folks  seem  to  know  enough  to  do  is  to 
sound  the  calamity  trumpet.  What  do  you 
know  about  hard  times,  only  so  far  as  you  are 
fated  to  be  a  living  example  of  the  warning  that 
they  that  work  not  neither  shall  they  eat  ?" 

Leeklaw  brought  his  hulking  body  to  an  up 
right  position,  and  there  was  an  ugly  glitter  in 
his  eye. 

"Don't  you  dare  say  I  don't  work,  Henry 
Miller,  whatever  you  say  agin  me;  don't  you 
dare  say  I  don't  work !  I've  always  worked, 
and  there  was  a  time  when  I  tried  to  save,  but 
that's  long  ago.  What's  the  use?  You  might 
as  well  get  what  there  is  out  of  it.  A  man  who 
gits  his  livin'  by  days  work  now,  might  as  well 
try  to  build  a  sand  house  in  the  river  and  expect 
it  to  last,  as  to  accumulate  enough  to  pay  his 
funeral  expenses.  Now,  I  ain't  got  much  pride 
myself,  so  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  to  git 
what  I  can  out  of  life  and  not  try  for  the  funeral 
expenses,  but  let  the  town  bury  me." 

"Which  it  would  gladly  do  tomorrow,"  said 
Miller,  and  the  store  rang  with  protracted  ap 
plause. 


86  BRITOMART, 

Mary  came  to  the  door  at  the  back  of  the 
shop  with  the  baby  in  her  arms.  "Do  come 
inside  awhile.  Aren't  you  tired  of  the  hubbub  ?" 

Britomart  had  just  finished  with  old  Mrs. 
Leven,  whose  long,  melancholy  face,  framed  in 
a  funereal  bonnet,  showed  signs  of  patient 
fatigue,  as  she  sat  in  the  backless  chair  Brito 
mart  had  placed  for  her,  which  she  knew  from 
experience  she  would  be  obliged  to  occupy  until 
such  time  as  the  political  storm  subsided,  and 
her  husband  felt  that  his  voice  could  be  spared. 

"No,"  answered  BritomartT*  "I'm  not  tired." 

"Your  looks  belie  you,  then,"  said  Mary, 
scanning  with  a  loving  eye  her  sister-in-law's 
flushed  face  and  trembling  hands. 

"I'm  not  tired,  Mary;  but  I'm  excited  and 
disgusted.  Just  look  at  them,  all  talking  poli 
tics,  each  pulling  on  a  separate  string,  which 
some  different  party  has  put  in  his  hands,  all 
pulling  against  each  other,  while  their  common 
enemy,  private  capital,  sits  high  and  invisible 
and  preys  upon  them  at  its  will ;  they,  poor  fools, 
never  knowing  what  is  pinching  them.  Here 
comes  another  with  his  own  separate  string,  just 
as  blind  as  the  rest,  and  much  more  conceited." 

"Why,  Britomart  Landor!  How  can  you 
talk  so  about  the  minister!"  and  Mary  disap 
peared  laughing,  leaving  Britomart  to  wait  upon 
Brother  Granby,  who  advanced  with  a  self-con 
scious  swing  born  of  absolute  knowledge  of  his 
own  worth  in  the  world,  and  the  unimpeachable 
correctness  of  his  convictions. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  87 

"Good  evening,  Sister  Landor.  Are  you  well  ? 
Ah,  I  did  not  see  you  out  last  Sunday,  and  I 
supposed  you  were  ill.  Quite  a  political  discus 
sion  they  are  having.  All  Greek  to  a  lady,  I 
presume,  and  quite  right,  quite  right  that  it 
should  be.  Politics  is  a  miry,  murky  cesspool, 
happily  out  of  woman's  jurisdiction." 

Britomart's  cheeks  were  burning  and  her 
eyes  were  flashing.  Her  voice,  clear  and  ring 
ing,  possessed  the  quality  of  penetration,  a  qual 
ity  Britomart  would  have  been  willing  to  dis 
pense  with  in  those  days.  Afterward — however, 
that  doesn't  enter  the  story  here. 

The  storm  about  the  stove  had  reached  its 
climax.  Old  Man  Spence,  between  spurts  of 
tobacco  juice  and  profanity,  had  declared  that 
unless  the  tariff  was  reduced  to  allow  the  labor 
ing  man  to  live  without  paying  the  indirect  tax, 
the  country  was  ruined.  Miller  said  the  country 
was  being  ruined  by  a  lot  of  hair-brained  people' 
who  didn't  and  wouldn't  vote  the  good  old  re 
publican  ticket,  who  were  fighting  the  party 
which  had  saved  them  in  the  late  rebellion,  and 
for  thirty  years  had  brought  good  times  and 
prosperity. 

"And  they  ought  to  be  prohibited  by  law!" 
shrieked  old  Leven,  his  long  fiddle  face  pale  with 
excitement.  "They  ought  to  be  imprisoned  for 
doin'  of  it,  ruinin'  of  us  all !" 

"Ruin?"  asked  Bid  Leeklaw;  "you  ain't 
ruined,  are  you?  Thought  you  and  Miller  said 


88  BRITOMART, 

times  wasn't  hard,  that  everybody  had  a  plenty 
'cept  them  as  was  too  lazy  to  work." 

"Times  is  hard,  and  we  ain't  got  a  plenty,  and 
it's  all  along  a  you  miserable  democrats  and 
populists,  and  up  here  by  our  house  there's  an 
arnichist  come  to  live — right  up  by  our  house ! 
Is  it  any  wonder  times  is  hard  when  such  folks 
is  allowed  outside  o'  state's  prison?" 

"So  you  think  everybody  but  republicans 
ought  to  be  jailed,  do  you,  and  then  times  would 
be  easy?" 

"Yes,  I  do ;  ther  a  ruinin'  of  the  country." 

"Leven,  you  are  too  big  a  fool  for  me,  even 
me,  Bid  Leeklaw,  to  talk  to." 

"By  George !  He's  about  right  about  the 
cranks  heeling  around  through  the  country.  I 
believe,  myself,  there  should  be  a  stop  put  to  it," 
said  Miller.  And  then  the  discussion  got  into 
the  form  it  inevitably  assumes  at  such  meetings, 
of,  "See  here,  my  friend,  let  me  ask  you" ;  "Wait 
a  minute,  wait  a  minute" ;  "What  about  seventy- 
three !"  "It's  a  lie,  I  say";  "What  did  Grover 
Cleveland  do?"  "Any  one  who  makes  such  an 
assertion  is  a  darn  fool !" — when  Britomart's 
clear,  cutting  tones  came  sifting  through,  a~s  she 
talked  politics  to  the  minister,  and  gradually, 
without  the  knowledge  or  consent  of  the  com 
pany,  dominated  the  controversy. 

"I  suppose  you  give  me  credit  for  possessing 
common  sense,  Mr.  Granby.  I  need  not  be 
blind  nor  deaf  to  my  surroundings  because  I 
am  a  woman.  I  am  interested  in  politics,  as  I 


THE  SOCIALIST.  89 

believe  it  my  duty  to  be,  and  I  am  trying  to 
understand  its  complexities,  the  whys  and 
wherefores  of  today.  I  do  not  think  that  poli 
tics  must  always  be  discussed  with  profanity 
and  personal  abuse.  Contrary  to  your  supposi 
tion,  I  do  know  what  the  tariff  is,  and  have  a 
very  decided  opinion  in  regard  to  it.  I  should 
insist  upon  knowing  what  authorities  they  had 
been  studying  before  I  should  be  willing  to  admit 
the  superior  knowledge  on  the  subject  of  any  of 
these  men  who  are  talking  so  loudly  and  know 
ingly  about  it  here.  At  the  same  time,  I  feel 
myself  too  ignorant  as  yet  to  be  convinced  that 
I  am  absolutely  right  and  everybody  who  differs 
with  me  entirely  wrong.  However,  as  you 
broached  the  subject,  I  wanted  to  own  that  I 
had  opinions,  am  trying  to  understand  for  my 
self,  and  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

Britomart  suddenly  discovered  that  she  was 
the  only  person  in  the  room  who  was  talking. 
For  a  moment  she  was  abashed,  but  her  blood 
was  fired  by  her  evening  of  repression,  and  the 
conversation  with  Brother  Granby  had  opened 
the  floodgates  of  her  eloquence,  and  she  stepped 
from  behind  her  brother's  counter  to  deliver  a 
lecture  so  sharp,  so  vivid,  with  such  quick  turns 
of  sarcasm,  that  her  hearers  of  all  parties  were 
bewildered  and  astonished — a  lecture  that  not 
one  of  the  men  present  would  have  dared  deliver 
before  the  others  for  fear  of  being  pitched  head 
long  into  the  street. 

"The  republican  party,"  she  said,  addressing 


90  BRITOMART, 

Miller  as  its  most  able  representative;  "what  is 
it  ?  A  corpse,  dead  twenty  years,  yet  you  carry 
it  about  on  your  shoulders  to  impose  its  old 
shape,  its  old  name,  on  confiding  farmers  and 
laborers,  who  blindly  follow  the  pale  deception 
as  a  dog  follows  its  dead  master;  and  under  its 
familiar  habiliments,  where  the  sound  life,  the 
honest  life  of  a  party  fighting  against  a  wrong 
once  pulsated,  hides  the  false  life  of  the  snake, 
private  interest — monopoly — money,  money ! 
How  long  will  intelligent  men  like  my  father 
and  my  brothers  here  worship  this  slimy  mon 
ster,  who  hides  beneath  the  cloak  of  their  old 
party,  before  they  realize  their  mistake?  Are 
we  not  the  people,  and  are  we  not  poor?  Are 
we  not  our  own  masters,  having  the  ballot,  yet 
are  we  not  tasting  the  very  dregs  of  slavery? 
Who  in  this  room  dares  to  say  we  are  not  poor ; 
Bid  Leeklaw  was  right  when  he  said  it  was  com 
ing — it  has  come,  to  a  time  when  the  most  a 
laboring  man  can  hope  for  in  this  world  is  to 
squeeze  through  with  the  meager  necessities  of 
life,  and  perhaps  enough  to  bury  them  in  the 
end — perhaps  not  enough  for  this.  Bid  Leek- 
law  has  given  up  that  hope ;  so  have  many,  and 
with  the  hope  all  care  whether  they  are  buried 
respectably  or  not,  and  back  of  that 
all  care  as  to  whether  there  is  any 
thing  about  them  respectable;  and  this 
is  a  land  of  plenty,  of  multimillionaires ! 
Who  dares  to  say  millionaires  are  blessings?" 
(Henry  Miller  had  made  the  assertion  a  few 


THE  SOCIALIST.  01 

minutes  before,  had  argued  their  existence  was 
a  sign  of  prosperity  in  the  land.)  "If  every  mil 
lionaire  had  his  desserts,  his  ground  would  be 
fenced  about  with  the  skulls  of  the  starved 
whose  portions  he  has  usurped;  not  but  that 
you  or  I,  or  Jake  Flatterbush,  would  do  the  same 
thing  if  we  had  the  power — that  doesn't  make  it 
any  better.  You  say,  beware  of  meddling  with 
the  Constitution.  Are  we  living  up  to  the  Con 
stitution?  Is  this  a  government  of  the  people, 
for  the  people?  Isn't  it  rather  a  government 
of  your  millionaires,  by  monopolists  for  private 
gain  ?  And  you  are  too  blind  to  see  it !  You — 
democrats,  republicans,  populists,  prohibitionists 
— pulling  each  your  own  string,  set  on  by  the 
demagogues  who  head  your  several  parties,  and 
who  are  either  blind  themselves  or  do  not  wish 
you  to  see  what  it  is  which  is  pressing  the  life 
out  of  you ;  and  ignorance  cries  out  against  re 
formers,  against  men  who  have  studied  an3 
weighed  and  faced  the  difficulties,  who  have  the 
temerity  to  stand  up,  announce  their  discoveries, 
demand  the  remedies,  and  take  the  conse 
quences.  Shall  we  Americans  establish  the  fact 
of  our  incompetency,  our  inherent  serfdom,  by 
toiling  on  for  generations  under  the  heel  of  the 
oppressor,  cringing  and  suffering  until  the  state 
of  desperation  is  reached,  until  the  process  of 
subjection  has  reached  its  climax,  as  in  the  older 
countries,  before  we  begin  to  think  for  our 
selves — to  act  for  ourselves?  Before  many 
years  it  may  be  too  late.  Already  it  is  whis- 


92  BRITOMART, 

pered  that  only  property-holders  have  any  right 
to  vote.  Then,  Bid  Leeklaw,  where  is  your 
chance  ?  Jake  Flatterbush,  where  is  your  chance  ? 
Frank  Landor,  where  is  yours,  or  your  son's? 
In  the  face  of  such  facts  the  birth  of  a  child  in 
a  poor  man's  family,  instead  of  being  an  occasion 
for  rejoicing,  should  be  one  of  sorrow  and  la 
mentation,  that  another  toiler  is  added  to  the 
mass  in  this  land  of  slaves." 

The  force  of  the  girl's  passionate  words,  the 
unexpectedness  of  the  harangue,  had  held  the 
listeners  as  more  logical  or  connected  arguments 
could  not  have  done.  The  lights  burned  dimly 
through  the  haze  of  tobacco  smoke,  which  hung 
about  the  ceiling.  Henry  Miller  and  Old  Spence, 
republican  and  democrat  alike,  stood  aghast  at 
this  avalanche  of  heterodoxy  and  its  source. 
Brother  Granby,  with  his  odorous  pound  of  cof 
fee  poised  on  his  arm,  stood  like  a  statue  of 
Justice,  stern  and  forbidding.  Bid  Leeklaw  and 
Jake  Flatterbush  had  forgotten  even  to  smoke 
in  their  interest  and  astonishment.  Old  Leven's 
jaw  refused  to  do  its  office,  and  hung  flaccidly 
ajar  on  his  grizzled  whiskers,  lengthening  his 
dull,  fiddle-shaped  face  absurdly,  while  his  wife 
had  risen  in  horror.  Among  a  group  of  new 
comers  Britomart  saw  the  faces  of  her  father 
and  William  John,  and  behind  them  she  suddenly 
became  aware  of  a  pair  of  narrow  eyes  fixed  on 
her  intently,  while  a  smile  of  satisfaction  played 
over  the  thin  lips  of  Dennis  Blair,  as  he  took  in 
the  scene  before  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

As  Britomart  paused  Bid  Leeklaw  removed 
his  hat  with  a  politeness  which  no  one  had  ever 
known  him  to  be  guilty  of  before. 

"You've  told  us  just  exactly  the  fix  we're  in, 
Miss  Britomart ;  now  tell  us  how  to  get  out  of 
it." 

Britomart  sighed.  "I  am  but  an  ignorant 
country  girl,  who  has  only  of  late  tried  to  inform 
herself.  I  am  not  competent  as  yet  to  tell  you 
that,  but  ask  this  gentleman  to  tell  you,"  and 
she  indicated  Blair,  whom,  until  then,  none  of 
the  group  had  noticed,  as  he  stood  quietly  near 
the  door.  "He  knows  by  bitter  experience  the 
working  of  the  system  in  a  great  city,  where  the 
grind  comes  harder  than  upon  us  here.  Ask 
him;  he  can  tell  you  better  than  I  can." 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Landor,"  said  Leeklaw, 
"but  I  want  to  say  right  here,  that  little  speech 
of  yours  has  warmed  my  heart,  nevertheless," 
and  he  bowed  gallantly,  his  hat  still  in  his  hand. 

Before  Blair  could  reply  or  advance,  Henry 
Miller  stepped  in  front  of  him  and  shook  his  fist 
in  his  face,  his  own  face  white  with  anger. 

"This  is  your  doings,  damn  you !"  he  ejacu 
lated.  "You  come  into  the  country,  you  free- 
luncher,  to  lead  women  astray !" 

The  smile  never  left  Blair's  lips,  nor  did  he 
flinch  in  the  slightest  degree.  On  the  other 


94  BR1TOMART, 

hand,  he  made  no  aggressive  movement.  Had 
he  attempted  to  chastise  every  man  whose  fists 
were  thrust  into  his  face,  and  who  called  him  a 
liar,  hypocrite  and-  thief,  his  life  might  as  well 
have  been  spent  in  the  prize  ring.  But  Miller's 
arm  was  hit  by  a  blow  from  a  sturdy  hand  which 
nearly  dislocated  his  elbow,  and  John  Landor's 
voice  advised  him  to  keep  his  fists  out  of  the 
faces  of  gentlemen. 

"John — Mr.  Landor,"  stammered  Miller, 
abashed  by  this  attack  from  Britomart's  father; 
"do  you  mean  to  uphold  this — this " 

"What's  the  man  done,  I  want  to  know,  that 
he  shouldn't  speak?  What's  he  done,  I  want 
to  enquire?  Come,  out  with  it." 

"Come  outside  and  I'll  talk  to  you.  I  can't 
in  here." 

"Yes,  you  can.  There's  nothin'  you  can't  say 
right  here — right  here  before  everybody;  in 
fact,  you've  said  enough  to  make  it  pretty  nearly 
necessary  for  the  matter  to  be  finished  up  right 
here  and  now!" 

Miller  began  to  feel  that  he  had  put  his  foot 
in  it,  but  his  anger  was  still  high.  All  at  once 
he  felt  he  no  longer  had  any  backing.  A  few 
minutes  ago,  when  he  began  his  attack  on  Jake 
Flatterbush,  he  had  the  support  of  the  Landors, 
Old  Leven,  and  the  other  republicans  who  were 
in  the  store.  Now  that  the  war  was  against 
Britomart,  he  realized  that  his  constituents  had 
deserted  him. 

"Do  you  like  to  see  a  woman  make  a  fool  of 


THE  SOCIALIST.  95 

herself  talking  politics?  That's  what  Brito- 
mart's  been  doing  here  tonight — talking  of 
something  she  knows  nothing  about  and  has 
no  business  to  know  anything  about,  and  he" — 
indicating  Blair — "he  has  put  her  up  to  it,  and  I 
know  it !" 

"It's  a  lie!"  shouted  Bid  Leeklaw.  "She 
shows  by  what  she  has  just  said  she  knows  more 
about  it,  a  darn  sight,  than  you  do,  you  little 
sniveling  one-horse-paper  man!" 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  Brother  Landor, 
this  is  terrible ;  this  is  terrible !"  It  was  the 
statue  of  Justice  come  to  life,  with  the  pound 
of  coffee  still  balancing  on  its  arm.  "In  the 
first  place,  I  suggest  that  it  would  be  more 
seemly  if  Sister  Landor  would  retire,  as  these 
men  seem  to  be  more  or  less  heated  with  polit 
ical  argument,  and " 

"I  don't  know  why  Britomart  isn't  perfectly 
safe  in  her  brother's  store,  with  her  whole  family 
to  back  her,  say  nothing  of  her  friends,"  and 
Frank  Landor  gave  Miller  a  glance  which  sent 
a  chill  down  that  young  man's  back.  Miller  did 
not  wish  to  get  on  bad  terms  with  the  Landors, 
because  he  had  firmly  decided  to  make  Brito 
mart  Landor  his  wife;  but  when  people  med 
dled  with  his  politics  it  touched  him  nearest  his 
heart. 

Old  Mrs.  Leven  sat  grasping  her  packages, 
winking  her  watery  blue  eyes,  and  sincerely  hop 
ing  no  one  was  going  to  fight. 

"I  guess  Britomart's  all  right,"  said  William 


96  BR1TOMART, 

John,  and  his  sister  shot  him  a  grateful  glance, 
and  a  lump  rose  in  her  throat  at  the  thought 
of  the  loyalty  of  dear  old  William  John  to  a  sis 
ter  of  whose  course,  she  knew  well  enough,  he 
did  not  approve. 

"No,  you  needn't  worry  yourself  about  Miss 
Landor,  parson,"  said  Jake  Flatterbush.  "If 
anybody  says  even  a  cuss-word,  I'll  fire  him  my 
self.  This  ain't  no  barroom.  I  want  to  hear 
what  the  arnichist  has  to  say.  You  can  lay  that 
coffee  down  a  spell ;  ain't  anybody  goin'  to 
steal  it." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  call  on  Jake  Flatter- 
bush  to  protect  you  while  I  am  here,"  blustered 
Miller,  "but " 

"That's  all  right,  gentlemen ;  give  the  lady  and 
the  clergyman  chairs,  and  let's  talk  this  matter 
over  calmly  a  minute,  will  you?"  asked  Dennis 
Blair,  advancing  to  the  center  of  the  group. 
"Let  us  reason  together.  There  is  nothing  to 
be  won  by  heated  argument,  but  there  may  be 
by  a  quiet,  friendly  talk." 

Leeklaw  immediately  set  out  one  chair,  and 
Frank  provided  another.  Britomart  sat  down 
by  Brother  Granby,  who  either  doubted  the  sin 
cerity  of  Flatterbush's  assurance  in  regard  to 
the  coffee,  or  in  fear  of  a  lapse  of  memory,  held 
it  tightly  in  his  arms,  together  with  the  latest 
issue  of  the  Belleville  "Weekly,"  which  he  had 
received  at  the  postoffice. 

"Now,  if  anybody  has  anything  to  ask,"  sug 
gested  Blair. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  97 

"In  the  first  place,  then,"  said  Old  Spence, 
in  a  tone  of  great  irritation,  "what  business  you 
got  stuffing  this  girl's  head  with  such  nonsense, 
as  she's  just  been  talkin'?"  He  was  very  much 
put  out.  On  his  entrance  from  the  back  of  the 
store  that  evening  he  had  been  full  of  pleasant 
sensations.  He  had  just  been  admiring  his  very 
admirable  young  grandson,  and  when  His  eye 
lit  on  Jake  Flatterbush,  Bid  Leeklaw  and  Henry 
Miller,  he  anticipated  a  long  evening  of  the  usual 
flow  of  argument,  which  never  got  anywhere, 
didn't  mean  anything,  and  hurt  no  one ;  but  this 
girl  had  broken  up  the  meeting  and  knocked 
all  the  comfort  out  of  it,  by  actually  introducing 
new  ideas.  There  was  no  use  of  new  ideas.  He 
didn't  approve  of  them.  The  old  ones  were  just 
as  good  as  they  had  been  for  years. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Spence,  that  Mr. 
Blair  did  not  put  this  nonsense,  as  you  call  it, 
into  my  head.  I  have  eyes  to  see,  haven't  I? 
And  I  know  that  I  and  my  people  have  worked 
hard  all  our  lives,  yet  grown  poorer  all  the  time. 
It  doesn't  take  a  very  brilliant  intellect  to  figure 
out  that  fact.  Mr.  Leven  has  acknowledged  the 
same  fact  two  or  three  times  this  evening,  as 
well  as  Jake  Flatterbush  and  Bid  Leeklaw.  My 
brother  Frank  made  the  same  assertion  before 
supper — good  republican  as  he  is ;  he  said  it  was 
hard  times.  Now,  I  have  asked  a  dozen  differ 
ent  men  who  should  know  what  makes  it  hard 
times  with  us,  when  there  has  been  no  drouth, 
no  storms  to  spoil  crops,  and  when  we  are  all 


98  BRITOMART, 

able  to  work.  One  man  told  me  it  was  because 
tariff  was  too  high,  and  the  people  paid  too 
heavily  for  the  necessities  of  life;  another  said 
it  was  too  low  and  everybody  was  competing 
with  the  pauper  labor  of  Europe — that  Europe 
was  importing  both  wool  and  wheat  into  this 
country.  I  found  out  this  was  an  untruth,  or  a 
mistake,  and  lost  confidence  in  this  man's  story. 
Another  teacher  explained  to  me  that  there  \vas 
an  over-production — more  than  the  people  could 
use ;  the  very  next  one  informed  me  it  was  over 
population.  You  can  readily  see  that  by  putting 
these  two  bits  of  information  together,  I  arrive 
at  just  nothing  at  all.  Brother  Granby,  here, 
declares  it  is  intemperance  and  prodigality — a 
general  lack  of  religion  throughout  the  country. 
Mind  you,  all  this  was  buzzing  in  my  head  be 
fore  I  ever  saw  Mr.  Blair,  and  the  reason  was 
that  my  father's  farm  was  mortgaged  heavily, 
and  I  saw  my  mother  and  brothers  bowing  un 
der  a  burden  of  work  which  seemed  pressing 
harder  on  them  every  year,  and  my  woman's 
heart  cried  out  for  the  reason — the  reason  for 
this  injustice !  Right  here  comes  Dennis  Blair 
(to  my  father,  not  to  me)  with  the  first  truly 
sensible  reason  for  it  all,  a  reason  which  is  the 
first  given  me  able  to  bear  its  own  weight,  a 
comprehensive  reason,  embracing  and  giving  a4 
reason  for  all  these  other  reasons,  which  have 
been  so  palpably  inadequate.  It  seems  to  me  as 
though  any  one  with  the  power  to  think  for 
themselves  must  believe  as  he  does — as  I  do 


THE  SOCIALIST.  99 

now,  that  a  socialistic  form  of  government,  and 
that  in  the  near  future,  is  the  only  hope  of  our 
democratic  country;  that  the  power  of  money 
must  be  abolished,  that  our  Constitution,  which 
has  become  a  dead  letter  as  it  reads  today,  must 
be  changed,  modified  to  meet  the  new  'demands 
of  new  conditions;  that  in  order  to  be  in  the 
spirit  as  well  as  the  letter  a  government  of  the 
people,  this  social  change  must  be  made." 

"Britomart  Landor,  do  you  know  you  are 
talking  anarchy?"  cried  Miller. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Blair,  "anarchy 
means  the  doing  away  with  government.  Mr. 
Miller,  the  gospel  Miss  Landor  is  preaching 
does  not  advocate  such  a  measure.  It  leans  in 
the  opposite  direction.  In  place  of  doing  away 
with  government,  it  enhances  the  powers  of  gov 
ernment  a  hundredfold." 

"Why,"  said  Brother  Granby,  shifting  his  cof 
fee,  the  more  readily  to  use  his  right  arm  for 
gesticulating,  "our  government  is  dangerously 
corrupt  now.  What  would  it  be  if  it  had  all 
this  added  power ;  the  rairoads,  for  instance,  the 
jurisdiction  over  the  land,  the  mines " 

"Would  you  not  rather  be  answerable  to  a 
democratic  government  of  which  you,  as  a  voter, 
were  a  part,  than  a  serf  on  the  estate  of  a  Rus 
sian  gentleman?  You  certainly  would.  Who 
owns  us  now  ?  According  to  Poor's  Manual  of 
Railroads  for  1885,  the  share  capital  of  the  rail 
road  companies  amounts  to  $3,762,616,686,  and 
the  funded  debt  to  $3,669,115,772,  making  a  total 


100  BRITOMART, 

of  $7,431,732,458.  According  to  the  census  of 
1880  the  estimated  valuation  of  the  farms  in  the 
United  States  is  $10,197,000,000.  And  this  rail 
road  wealth  is  practically  in  the  hands  of  less 
than  a  dozen  men.  Whither  are  we  drifting? 
who  owns  us?" 

Old  Man  Spence,  Leven,  and  Miller,  all  began 
talking  at  once. 

"One  at  a  time,  gentlemen,  one  at  a  time," 
cried  Leeklaw.  "We've  got  all  night  now. 
Frank  won't  have  any  more  custom." 

"I  think  it  is  high  time  we  was  goin'  home," 
said  Old  Mrs.  Leven,  weakly,  rising  to  her  feet. 

"Set  down !"  commanded  her  husband,  and 
the  poor  tired  old  woman  subsided,  sighing 
heavily.  Mary  stepped  around  the  corner  of  the 
counter  and  drew  her  into  the  sitting-room, 
where  she  reclined  in  a  rocking-chair  and  asked 
stereotyped  questions  about  the  baby,  which 
Mary  patiently  answered,  although  her  ears  were 
strained  to  catch  the  arguments  which  floated 
in  through  the  open  door.  She  heard  her  father 
declaring  that  there  always  had  been  labor 
cranks,  and  Freelove  cranks,  and  temperance 
cranks,  and  always  would  be,  interlarding  his 
declarations  with  expectorative  pauses,  and 
strengthening  them  with  his  favorite  oaths. 
They'd  been  at  it  in  the  old  countries  for  five 
hundred  years,  and  what  had  come  of  it? 

"Yes,  indeed;  yes,  indeed,"  assented  Brother 
Granby.  "Think  of  the  terrible  French  Revo 
lution !"  He  shifted  his  package  with  a  deep 


THE  SOCIALIST.  101 

sigh,  and  the  aroma  of  coffee  floated  out  with 
a  soothing  effect. 

''That's  what  always  discourages  me,"  ven 
tured  William  John;  "it's  all  been  talked  of  so 
long  and  nothing  come  of  it." 

"We  cannot  'unlock  the  future's  portal  with 
the  past's  blood-rusted  key,'  "  answered  Blair. 
"Remember  the  condition  of  the  French  peas 
ant;  remember  his  ignorance,  his  helplessness. 
For  him  there  was  no  other  way;  for  us,  with 
our  universal  education,  the  power  which  we 
wield  through  the  medium  of  the  ballot,  there 
is  but  one  thing  we  lack — unanimity.  There 
are  so  many  agents  to  lead  us  astray.  We  are 
incited  to  petty  political  strifes.  When  King 
Capital  sees  the  people  growing  uneasy  he  man 
ages  to  draw  their  attention  to  a  presidential 
campaign,  and  sets  you  republicans  off  in  one 
direction,  following  a  flag  bearing  the  legend, 
'Down  with  free  trade;  let  the  poor  man  live,' 
while  the  democrats  are  following  a  similar  ban 
ner  on  which  is  written,  'Down  with  the  thief 
High  Tariff ;  let  the  poor  man  live  !'  Meanwhile 
King  Capital,  with  his  tenacious  fingers  about 
your  throats,  strangles  you  gently,  each  partisan 
laying  his  conscious  shortness  of  breath  at  the 
door  of  the  opposite  party." 

"Oh,  see  here,  now,"  broke  in  Miller,  "I  can't 
stand  this  !  I " 

"Shut  up!"  cried  Leeklaw.  Not  a  word  out 
o'  you,  Miller.  You  can  spout  it  next  week  in 


102  BRITOMART, 

the  Belleville  'Weekly,'  but  you  ain't  got  the 
floor  tonight;  we've  heard  you  before." 

Flatterbush  felt  it  was  as  good  a  chance  as 
might  ever  come  to  him  to  get  even  with  Miller. 

"You  might  as  well  call  his  mother  a  mouse 
as  to  say  anything  to  Miller  against  the  repub 
lican  party.  It's  the  only  thing  he  knows  any 
thing  about,  and  he  don't  know  but  darned  little 
about  that." 

Everybody  laughed,  and  Miller  said  some 
thing  Mary  could  not  hear,  because  old  Mrs. 
Leven  was  droning  along  about  "when  Tilly  was 
teething."  Everything  which  could  happen  to 
a  child  had  happened  to  Tilly  while  teething. 
Mary's  mother  came  into  the  room  and  Mary 
escaped  into  the  store,  bearing  with  her  a  chair, 
which  she  planted  beside  Britomart,  and  took 
possession  of  Britomart's  hand,  which  instinct 
ively  sought  her  sister-in-law's,  and  the  two 
women  smiled  into  each  other's  faces.  It  seemed 
to  Mary  that  somehow  Britomart  was  carrying 
on  an  unequal  warfare,  and  needed  the  help  of 
another  woman;  and  although  until  the  last 
week  she  had  never  heard  the  word  Socialism, 
her  soul  was  afire  with  this  new  wine  of  logic, 
which  this  cool,  unimpassioned  man — this  Blair, 
was  poruing  into  the  ears  of  his  hearers,  willing 
and  unwilling.  She  looked  about  upon  the  faces, 
all  turned  towards  him  who  was  speaking;  her 
father's,  quivering  with  indignation  at  innova 
tions  he  was  too  obstinate  to  admit  were  right ; 
old  Leven's  stolid,  blank,  uncomprehending; 


THE  SOCIALIST.  103 

Flatterbush's  and  Leeklaw's,  marked  by  dissi 
pation  ;  Henry  Miller's,  puffing  with  suppressed 
anger  and  disturbed  egotism ;  and  she  gasped, 
"O  God !  must  the  future  of  my  boy  and  his 
children  depend  upon  the  action  of  such  as 
these !"  But,  back  in  the  shadow,  were  the 
weather-beaten,  intelligent  faces  of  Farmer  Lan- 
dor  and  William  John;  and  near  her  own  was 
Britomart's,  with  the  red  flush  of  courage  and 
high  resolve  mantling  the  cheek  and  flashing  in 
the  eyes,  while  there,  in  the  center  of  the  group, 
passionless,  persistent,  patient,  was  Dennis  Blair, 
calmly  battering  at  the  thick  wall  of  prejudice 
and  bigotry,  with  truths,  truths,  truths.  When 
one  failed  of  its  purpose  and  fell,  he  caught  it, 
turned  it  about,  insisted  on  its  consideration, 
reiterated  its  importance,  until  at  last  he  felt  it 
had  entered  one  or  another  of  the  minds  about 
him.  And  this  had  been  the  life  of  Dennis  Blair 
for  years ;  and  this,  he  firmly  believed,  should 
always  be  his  life,  preaching  the  gospel  of  So 
cialism  without  hope  of  seeing  any  of  the  fruits 
of  his  work,  but  knowing  there  would  be  fruits 
just  the  same ;  talking,  writing,  reviled,  mocked, 
jeered  at — but,  after  all,  was  he  not  following 
in  the  footsteps  of  a  Master?  Christ  walked  the 
earth  preaching  "Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to 
men,"  and  Dennis  Blair  the  Socialist  was  his 
true  disciple ;  not  the  Catholic  zealot,  bearing 
aloft  the  cross  and  pursuing  the  Protestants  with 
undying  hate ;  not  the  Protestants,  burning  and 
murdering  the  Catholics  in  the  name  of  the 


104  BRITOMART, 

gentle  Christ;  not  the  women,  bowing  above 
their  prayer  books,  with  their  hearts  full  of  pride 
and  frivolity;  not  the  fat  pastors,  preaching 
hollow-sounding  words  from  marble  hearts  to 
deaf,  self-satisfied  ears;  but  Dennis  Blair  the 
Socialist,  gladly  giving  life  and  strength  to  bring 
about  Christ's  purpose  literally,  "Peace  on  earth, 
good  will  to  men."  Mary  felt  a  great  tide  of 
love  rise  up  in  her  heart  for  this  man,  and  an 
impulse  to  bring  Bumpy  and  lay  him  in  Blair's 
arms  and  say,  "Fight  for  his  future,  save  him. 
In  you  and  your  fellow-workers  lies  this  baby's 
hope,  and  the  hope  of  coming  generations." 

"It's  time  we  was  a-goin'  home."  The  per 
sistent  voice  of  Mrs.  Leven,  and  the  appearance 
of  her  hatchet  face  at  the  back  door,  broke  the 
spell,  and  old  Leven,  who  had  been  nodding  for 
the  last  ten  minutes,  acquiesced  and  led  the  way 
to  the  door. 

"And  you  say  the  land  should  belong  to  the 
government,  and  the  railroads,  and  the  factories, 
and  the  mines?"  questioned  Bid  Leeklaw. 

"I  do,"  answered  Blair. 

"Do  you  believe  this,  John  Landor?" 

"I  do,"  answered  the  farmer. 

"And  you,  Britomart?" 

"Most  assuredly." 

"And  you,  William  John,  and  Frank  ?" 

Frank  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said 
slowly:  "At  the  supper  table  tonight  I  should 
not  have  answered  that  question  in  the  affirma- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  105 

tive.  But  I  know  something  is  wrong,  and  this 
new  system  promises  a  way  out." 

"William  John?"  persisted  the  questioner. 

Old  Leven,  arrested  by  the  question,  turned 
at  the  door,  and  held  a  wavering  forefinger 
towards  the  youth. 

"William  John  Landor,  if  you  dare  say  you 
believe  what  that  arnichist  says,  you  need  never 
darken  my  doors  again.  I  ruther  my  daughter 
was  dead  and  buried  and  the  green  grass  growin* 
over  her  than  that  she  should  marry  an  arnichist 
or  a  democrat.  Do  you  believe  it?" 

William  John's  face  was  fiery  red. 

"Auh,  shet  up,  and  go  along  home ;  your 
woman's  a  yellin'  at  ye,"  exclaimed  Jake  Flat- 
terbush,  pushing  old  Leven  out  of  the  door,  an3 
thus  saving  poor  William  John  from  deciding 
between  his  sweetheart  and  the  right  to  think 
for  himself. 

The  Sunday  morning  following  the  discussion 
in  the  store  Brother  Granby  felt  it  his  duty  to 
preach  a  sermon  on  the  subject  of  patience  and 
meekness,  each  bearing  his  burden  in  this  world 
uncomplainingly,  and  especially  not  to  meddle 
with  that  which  was  none  of  his  business.  He 
felt  his  eloquence  expand  as  he  looked  down  into 
the  clear,  defiant  eyes  of  Britomart  Landor, 
seated  with  her  brothers  and  parents  in  the 
family  pew.  He  asserted,  solemnly,  that  the 
trouble  of  the  times  came  largely  from  discon 
tent  among  laboring  people  ;  that  discontent  was 
sin.  He  spoke  very  plainly  on  the  subject  of 


106  BRITOMART, 

women  being  contented  in  their  sphere,  letting 
the  strifes  and  arguments  of  the  world  go  by 
unheeded,  while  they  occupied  themselves  with 
the  calm  and  rational  pursuits  for  which  the 
Lord  had  evidently  intended  them.  He  even 
ventured  to  assume  a  little  of  the  Lord's  author 
ity,  and  declared  that  those  who  refused  to  fill 
this  especial  walk  in  life  would  be  more  or  less 
damned.  When  he  settled  back  on  the  haircloth 
chair,  and  wiped  his  perspiring  face,  after  the 
sermon,  he  devoutly  hoped  it  had  reached  the 
heart  of  that  obstinate  Landor  girl,  and  might 
do  her  good. 

It  did  not  make  much  of  an  impression  on 
her,  however;  but  old  Mrs.  Leven,  her  shawl 
drawn  tightly  across  her  bent  shoulders,  her 
watery  eyes  blinking  weakly  in  the  strong  Au 
gust  sunshine,  felt  a  wave  of  thankfulness  that 
she  had  lived  a  life  acceptable  alike  to  God  and 
man,  that  she  had  perverted  neither  her  own  nor 
her  child's  life  by  undue  knowledge  on  any  sub 
ject,  and  that  she  and  Tilly  were  especially  igno 
rant  and  innocent  in  regard  to  politics.  She 
shuddered  despite  the  warmth  of  the  day,  when 
she  thought  of  the  awful  depths  of  sin  into  which 
her  neighbor  Landor  had  allowed  his  daughter 
to  fall.  She  hoped  Tilly  would  obey  her  father's 
commands  and  give  up  William  John  Landor ; 
but  Tilly,  like  most  pillowy  young  women  of  her 
caliber,  possessed  a  stubbornness  in  certain  mat 
ters  which  was  almost  masculine  in  its  intensity. 

After  service  was  over,  Britomart  stood  talk- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  107 

ing  with  her  mother  in  the  long  grass,  while 
William  John  and  her  father  went  to  untie  the 
team.  It  was  very  warm.  The  ragged  plum 
trees  which  grew  between  the  church  and  the 
cemetery  threw  sharp  black  shadows  on  the 
grass.  A  hot  harvest  smell  came  up  from  the 
adjacent  fields.  The  people  thronged  out  of  the 
little  shabby  church  and  went  their  several  ways ; 
numerous  old  and  middle-aged  women,  looking 
warm  and  tired,  and  dreading  the  getting  of  din 
ner,  which  was  the  next  number  on  their  pro 
gramme  ;  many  young  girls  tricked  out  in  pink, 
white  and  green,  wearing  tawdry  hats  loaded 
with  cheap  artificial  flowers ;  a  few  old  men  and 
very  young  boys ;  and  three  young  men,  the 
target  for  many  inviting  pairs  of  eyes. 

Britomart  held  her  white  skirts  from  contact 
with  the  grass  as  she  talked  with  her  mother. 
To  Mrs.  Lander's  eyes  Britomart  looked  fit  to 
be  a  queen,  so  tall,  so  graceful,  with  her  round 
waist  and  dark  crown  of  hair.  And  Mrs.  Lan- 
dor  was  right  in  regard  to  her  daughter's  beauty, 
despite  the  opinions  of  Belleville. 

"Pa  says  you  had  quite  a  brush  with  a  whole 
store-full  of  folks  last  night,"  Mrs.  Landor  said, 
smiling  up  into  Britomart's  face. 

"Yes,"  answered  Britomart,  absently.  She 
saw  Henry  Miller  loitering  by  the  steps,  and 
she  knew  he  meant  to  walk  home  with  her.  She 
felt  very  much  averse  to  his  society. 

"Come  home  as  soon  as  Frank's  folks  can 
spare  you,"  called  her  mother,  as  they  drove  out 


108  BRITOMART, 

of  the  yard,  leaving  Britomart  looking  wistfully 
after  them.  She  longed  to  be  in  the  wagon 
going  home.  She  wanted  to  tell  her  mother  her 
troubles.  She  hated  the  town  of  Belleville, 
Frank's  store,  everybody  in  general,  and  in  par 
ticular  the  man  who  stood  switching  at  the  may 
weeds  with  his  umbrella,  and  waiting,  very  im 
patiently,  by  the  steps  for  her. 

She  said  good  morning  in  a  somewhat  distant 
manner,  to  which  he  responded  with  a  grunt. 
They  walked  on  in  silence  a  few  minutes.  Miller 
was  very  angry  with  this  headstrong  young 
woman;  and  never  dreaming  but  that  he  pos 
sessed  the  winning  card,  he  determined  to  dis 
cipline  her  a  bit.  They  had  reached  Main  street 
before  he  spoke  again.  He  had  expected  some 
sort  of  an  apology  from  Britomart,  and  in 
tended  to  make  her  pay  dearly  for  her  temerity 
on  Saturday  night.  Main  street  was  no  place 
for  a  lover's  quarrel  to  be  successfully  carried  on. 
Britomart  might — was  very  likely — to  show  a 
good  deal  of  emotion  at  what  he  had  determined 
to  say  to  her.  He  didn't  care  to  have  her  cry 
ing  along  the  street,  and  the  fellows  all  guying 
him  next  day. 

"Let's  walk  down  by  the  river  a  few  minutes," 
he  suggested. 

"I  can't ;  I  must  help  Mary  get  dinner." 

"But  I  have  something  of  importance  to  say 
to  you." 

"Can't  you  say  it  here?" 

Miller  flung  his  head  angrily.    "Yes,  I  suppose 


THE  SOCIALIST.  109 

I  can.  I  ain't  much  of  a  hand  to  have  spats  in 
public  places,  though." 

"I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  to  have  'spats'  any 
where,"  retorted  Britomart,  coolly. 

"I  think  you  are,"  blustered  Miller;  "at  least, 
you  seem  to  take  delight  in  making  me  mad !" 

"I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  declared 
Britomart.  "If  you  mean  what  I  said  and  did 
Saturday  night,  I  can  tell  you  it  was  not  on  your 
account.  I  only  spoke  my  convictions." 

"Your  convictions !"  sneered  Miller.  "You 
will  learn  some  day,  Miss  Landor,  that  a  woman 
hasn't  much  use  for  convictions.  The  fewer  she 
has,  the  better  care  she  takes  of  a  man's  home 
and  babies ;  and  that's  what  he  marries  her  for." 

"Really,  Mr.  Miller?  This  is  news  to  me. 
Have  you  anything  further  to  say  to  me?  If 
not,  you  will  excuse  me;  I  have  work  to  do." 

"Oh,  come,  Britomart,  don't  get  on  your  high 
horse.  You  made  me  mad,'  and  I've  made  you 
mad,  so  now  we're  quits.  I'm  willing  to  take 
everything  back — till  the  next  time ;  but  I'm  in 
dead  earnest  when  I  say  I  won't  stand  this  sort 
of  thing  from  any  girl.  I  don't  believe  in  girls 
making  strong-minded  shows  of  themselves,  and 
any  girl  I  go  with  must  cut  that ;  that's  all  there 
is  about  it;  and  you  had  no  business  to  come 
out  and  talk  politics  as  you  did  Saturday  night. 
But  let's-jiot  spoil  the  whole  Sunday  scrapping. 
Tell  you  what  I'll  do :  After  dinner  I'll  come 
round  with  one  of  Bagly's  teams  and  we'll  take 
a  ride." 


110  BRITOMART, 

"I  don't  care  to  go,"  said  Britomart.  They 
were  on  the  stoop  at  the  little  side  entrance 
which  led  into  Frank  Lander's  living-rooms  at 
the  rear  of  the  store.  Miller  seized  her  hand  and 
pulled  her  down  beside  him  on  the  steps,  retain 
ing  the  hand,  although  in  plain  sight  of  the 
street. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "you  and  I  can't  afford  to 
fight  so  much.  One  or  the  other  of  us  has  got 
to  give  up  our  opinion  if  we  are  going  through 
life  together." 

It  was  the  declaration  which  Britomart  had 
been  dreading.  She  had  intended  when  he 
asked  her  to  marry  him  to  say  yes.  Everybody 
decided  it  would  be  for  the  best,  and  she  knew 
no  especial  reason  why  it  would  not.  Girls  had 
to  marry. 

"Aren't  we  going  through  life  together?"  he 
persisted,  still  holding  her  hand. 

"I  think  not, — now,"  she  answered.  He  was 
astonished  into  silence.  Old  Farmer  Lander's 
daughter  was  refusing  him ;  or,  hold  ! — impossi 
ble  !  She  was  angry  wich  him  and  was  dissem 
bling  to  make  him  uneasy.  He  would  show  her 
that  there  was  too  much  disparity  in  their  posi 
tions  to  allow  of  this  by-play. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  releasing  her  hand,  "then  I  un 
derstand  that  you  don't  care  for  my  company 
any  more?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Landor,  I  bid  you  good  af 
ternoon." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  Ill 

She  stood  still  in  the  sun,  watching  him  go 
down  the  street,  with  a  great  feeling  of  relief  in 
her  heart.  She  did  not  until  that  moment  realize 
how  she  had  come  to  hate  him. 

"And  had  things  happened  a  little  differently,  I 
should  have  married  him,"  she  said,  with  a  shud 
der;  "and  then  I  should  have  come,  some  day, 
to  feel  like  this  towards  him,  and  yet  have  been 
tied  to  him  for  life."  He,  swinging  airily  down 
the  street,  saw  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  her 
white  drapery,  and  knew  she  stood  on  the  steps 
watching  him;  longing,  propably,  to  call  him 
back,  yet  not  daring  to  do  so,  ready  to  go  and 
cry  her  eyes  out  all  the  afternoon.  Well,  he 
would  give  her  something  substantial  to  cry  for. 
He  could  bring  the  thumb-screw  of  jealousy  to 
bear  upon  the  young  lady  in  a  way  not  open  to 
girls  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

An  hour  later  he  drove  slowly  by  the  Landor 
store  in  company  with  a  very  pink-and-white 
young  lady,  her  childish  face  upturned  to  his, 
full  of  bubbling  laughter  incited  by  his  wit ;  her 
white-gloved  hands  crossed  in  her  lap,  and  the 
dry  August  wind  tossing  a  couple  of  heavy, 
creamy  plumes  about  her  head.  Britomart  saw 
them  from  the  window  and  bowed  smilingly, 
then  fell  into  deep  thought  for  a  while. 

"What's  the  matter,  Britomart?"  asked  Frank, 
fearfully.  "You  don't  care,  do  you,  because  that 
puppy— 

"No,"  answered  Britomart,  "because  I  do  not 
love  him  ;  but  suppose  I  did  ?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Britomart  stayed  a  week  after  this,  dealing 
out  brown  paper  parcels  to  country  folks,  giving 
samples  to  Belleville  ladies,  tending  Sir  Bumpy, 
who  was  beginning  to  realize  that  he  was  a  hu 
man  being  and  to  assume  airs  in  consequence, 
washing  dishes  for  Mary,  and  talking  politics 
with  Frank,  Mrs.  Spence,  and  Bid  Leeklaw  at 
odd  times. 

To  Leeklaw  this  girl  was  a  revelation.  He 
took  to  haunting  the  store  at  all  hours,  and  the 
moment  Britomart  was  at  leisure,  sidling  up  to 
her  and  opening  a  conversation  on  social  topics. 
The  man  was  like  a  schoolboy  who  is  being 
pinched  and  hectored  by  some  one  who  sits  be 
hind,  or  in  front,  or  at  his  side,  but  he  cannot  lo 
cate  the  mischief-maker.  He  bubbles  with 
vengeance,  but  every  face  looks  so  innocent  he 
knows  not  where  to  lay  the  blame,  and  the  teach 
er  assures  him  that  he  is  mistaken.  He  is  not 
being  pinched,  or  if  he  is,  it  is  a  visitation  of  God, 
sent  for  his  good,  and  as  a  discipline. 

Now  this  friendly  girl  leans  forward  and  kind 
ly  tells  him  who  the  culprit  is.  She  says,  and  in 
a  way  which  brings  absolute  conviction,  "It  is 
not  Johnnie  Hightariff,  at  your  right,  though  he 
is  not  altogether  a  virtuous  boy;  it  is  not  Mike 
Overproduction,  nor  James  Overpopulation;  it 
is  that  fiend  incarnate,  Judas  Private-Capital, 
whose  middle  name  is  Monopoly !  He  is  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  113 

boy  who  is  causing  your  suffering.  Do  not 
strike  out  blindly,  hitting  innocent  ones,  and 
spoiling  your  chance  for  revenge.  Be  sure  you 
are  right,  then,  as  far  as  lies  in  your  power, 
punish.  .  You  can  do  much  by  warning  other 
scholars.  When  they  all  come  to  know  this  boy 
in  his  true  character,  he  will  be  thrown  out  of 
school,  but  he  is  a  fawning  sneak,  who  pinches, 
and  lays  it  at  other  people's  doors." 

Britomart  lent  her  admirer  books,  reading 
certain  passages  aloud  to  him,  that  he  might  un 
derstand  them  better,  and  she  smiled  when  she 
received  them  back  to  notice  the  visible  signs  of 
the  struggle  to  master  their  contents,  in  the 
greasy  thumb-marks.  At  certain  places  the  let 
ters  were  hardly  discernible,  owing  to  some 
especially  knotty  page,  which  had  required  many 
perusals.  The  books  belonged  to  Dennis  Blair, 
but  he  was  only  too  glad  to  see  the  marks  of  a 
laborer's  hands  upon  them.  Not  once  during 
the  week  did  Henry  Miller  visit  the  Landor 
store,  but  Britomart  saw  him  on  two  occasions 
riding  by  with  the  girl  of  the  creamy  plumes. 
He  meant  to  give  Britomart  a  terrible  lesson. 

Friday  night  William  John  came  for  her  with 
the  team  and  she  went  home.  She  was  very 
glad  to  be  at  home  again.  It  was  so  sweet  and 
cozy.  The  fire  shone  bright  in  the  kitchen  stove 
and  looked  comfortable,  despite  the  fact  that  it 
was  August.  Her  mother  bustled  about  getting 
supper,  while  her  father  and  William  John  did 
the  milking. 


114  BRITOMART, 

Britomart  sat  down  on  the  front  porch  after 
tea  was  ready  and  watched  the  sun  go  down  over 
the  western  grove.  She  saw  Blair  coming  down 
the  hill,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  seemed  to 
be  absorbed  in  thought.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
to  observe  something  by  the  roadside,  then  Brit 
omart  saw  him  beating  the  ground  with  a  stick, 
and,  stooping,  pick  up  an  object  which  he  car 
ried  on  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Britomart's 
mother  came  to  the  doorstep  and  sat  down  be 
side  her. 

"Do  you  like  him  as  a  boarder,  mother?" 

"Yes,  he  never  has  a  word  to  say;  eats  any 
thing  you  put  before  him.  He  and  your  father 
have  great  times,  talking  this  new  doctrine,  you 
know — this  Socialism." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — if  what  he  says  is 
true " 

"We  don't  have  to  believe  what  he  says, 
mother ;  we  can  see  for  ourselves." 

"I  don't  mind  you  and  your  father  falling  in 
love  with  Socialism ;  but,  Britomart,  I  don't  want 
you  to  fall  in  love  with  the  Socialist,  because  I 
want  you  to  marry  Henry  Miller,  and  live  right 
here  in  Belleville." 

Britomart  laughed. 

"What  put  such  a  foolish  idea  into  your  head, 
mother?" 

"It's  what  folks  are  saying,"  answered  Mrs. 
Landor,  solemnly.  "Tilly  Leven  heard  it  and 
told  me  the  other  day.  They  say  that  you  are 


THE  SOCIALIST.  115 

infatuated  with  this  stranger,  that  you  have  been 
preaching  his  doctrines  in  Frank's  store,  and 
that  you  have  used  Henry  Miller  shamefully." 

"Henry  Miller  and  I  have  broken  off  for 
good,"  said  Britomart. 

Mrs.  Landor  made  a  despairing  little  ejacula 
tion. 

"Then  it  is  true,!"  she  cried,  and  grasped 
Britomart's  hand  with  her  own,  which  trem 
bled. 

Britomart  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  was 
trying  to  analyze  her  own  feelings.  She  knew 
that  her  ideas  in  regard  to  marriage  with  Henry 
Miller  had  undergone  a  change  since  her  ac 
quaintance  with  this  man  Blair,  and  she  meant 
to  know  positively  if  the  reasons  which  the 
neighbors  assigned  for  this  change  were  the 
right  ones.  Was  it  a  love  for  Blair  which  had 
wrought  this  change?  If  so,  she  should  not 
hesitate  to  tell  her  mother.  She  always  made  a 
confidant  of  her  mother,  because  she  knew  her 
faith  was  not  misplaced;  that  no  matter  how 
much  of  a  temptation  it  might  be  to  tell  a  daugh 
ter's  hopes  and  triumphs  to  a  group  of  quilters, 
or  afternoon  visitors,  boasting  of  their  own 
daughters,  her  mother  never  succumbed  to  it. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  me?"  her  mother 
asked,  nervously.  "You  would  be  a  good  sight 
better  off  to  marry  a  Belleville  business  man, 
who  is  settled  in  one  place,  and  that  place  near 
home,  than  to  go  traipsing  around  the  country 


116  BRITOMART, 

with  this  stranger.  Britomart,  who  knows  what 
his  father  is,  or  was — or  his  mother!" 

Blair  came  up  the  walk  before  Britomart  could 
answer  her  mother.  He  held  out  a  slender 
white  hand,  in  the  palm  of  which  crouched  a 
wounded  toad. 

There  was  something  peculiar  about  Blair's 
hands ;  they  were  so  shapely,  so  slender,  yet 
possessed  of  such  steely  strength  of  wrist  and 
fingers,  acquired,  perhaps,  in  playing  the  violin, 
of  which  he  was  a  master.  Britomart  loved 
to  watch  the  ease  and  strength  with  which  those 
white  fingers  found  their  places  on  the  strings 
of  the  violin  or  upon  the  piano  keys. 

"I  found  him  in  the  teeth  of  his  enemy,"  he 
said,  smiling  at  the  two  women  in  the  door ;  "and 
if  you  do  not  object,  Mrs.  Landor,  I  will  put 
him  in  the  garden  to  recover  his  wounds.  Poor 
little  fellow !  There  is  something  awful  to  me  in 
the  slow  destruction  of  a  snake's  victim ;  it  is  so 
much  worse  than  the  quick  spring  of  the  animal 
which  kills  and  devours  afterwards.  It  reminds 
me  of — I  will  not  preach,  however.  Miss  Brito 
mart,  you  know  of  what  it  reminds  me,"  and  he 
went  round  the  house  in  the  direction  of  the  gar 
den,  laughing. 

The  elder  woman  had  not  returned  his  pleas 
ant  greeting  with  much  warmth.  She  felt  a  sud 
den  dislike  for  her  boarder,  with  his  beautiful 
hands  and  strong,  compelling  face. 

"He  is  a  man  who  can  make  people  think  as  he 


THE  SOCIALIST.  117 

does  whether  they  want  to  or  not,"  she  said 
aloud. 

"Yes,"  Britomart  answered,  thoughtfully,  "I 
believe  he  is,  and  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  because 
the  world  needs  to  think  as  he  does.  I  believe 
in  the  doctrine  he  preaches.  I  long  to  read  the 
book  he  is  writing.  I  believe  it  will  be  a  book  of 
fate  for  a  generation  yet  unborn.  But,  mother, 
don't  worry  about  my  being  in  love  with  the 
man.  There  isn't  the  slightest  danger.  I  am 
in  love  with  his  ideals,  with  his  work,  but  not 
with  Dennis  Blair." 

A  look  of  relief  came  over  Mrs.  Lander's  face. 
She  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  Britomart. 
She  knew  if  her  fears  had  grounds  Britomart 
would  not  hesitate  to  tell  her. 

"Then  your  quarrel  with  Henry  Miller  is  noth 
ing  but  a  lovers'  tiff?"  she  ventured. 

"More  than  that,  mother ;  I  have  come  to  ut 
terly  despise  that  man !" 

"Oh,  Britomart !" 

"It  is  so ;  I  could  never  marry  a  man  for  whom 
I  had  no  respect.  You  saw  Dennis  Blair  rescue 
the  toad  and  bring  it  to  a  place  of  safety,  where 
it  could  resume  its  innocent  little  life.  Henry 
Miller  would  have  scorned  to  touch  the  repulsive 
little  victim.  He  might  have  stopped  out  of  idle 
curiosity  to  watch  the  struggle." 

"There  are  many  tender-hearted  men  who 
would  have  done  the  same,  Britomart,  yet  who 
wouldn't  make  their  fellow-beings  suffer." 

"Henry  Miller  is  not  one  of  them ;  he  loves  to 


118  BRITOMART, 

make  his  fellow-beings  suffer.  He  loves  to  be 
pitted  against  Bid  Leeklaw,  or  poor,  ignorant 
Jake  Flatterbush,  and  torture  them  with  his 
ready  tongue  and  cheap  wit;  but,  like  the  bully 
that  he  is,  let  a  man  who  can  talk,  and  who  has 
the  knowledge  to  down  him  in  his  hackneyed 
arguments,  get  hold  of  him,  and  he  is  angry  at 
once,  and  begins  to  strut  and  bluster  like  a  dis 
turbed  turkey." 

Mrs.  Landor  sighed  heavily.  "It  seemed  such 
an  easy  way  out,"  she  said. 

Britomart's  foot  tapped  the  step  nervously. 
"Out  of  what?"  she  asked. 

"Out  of  the  difficulties  of  life,  for  you,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Landor.  "A  girl  must  marry ;  there 
isn't  any  other  comfortable  way  for  her  in  this 
ivorld ;  and  if  she  runs  across  a  man  who  is  able 
to  support  her  decently,  and  whom  she  can,  by 
hook  or  crook,  endure,  she  had  better  take  him." 

Britomart  flung  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  anger. 

"I  shall  never  marry  for  such  a  reason;  I'll 
starve  first !  Is  it  right  that  a  woman  should  be 
forced  to  such  a  crime  for  a  living?"  She  had 
risen  and  was  pacing  back  and  forth  on  the  plat 
form,  her  eyes  full  of  angry  tears. 

"It  ain't  right,  Britomart,  and  it  ain't  just; 
but  it  is  a  fact,  all  the  same,  and  you  can't  get 
round  it.  Your  father  is  getting  poorer  every 
day.  We're  bound  to  lose  this  farm  before  a 
great  many  years,  and  then  what  will  become 
of  us?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know!  If  vou  were 


THE  SOCIALIST.  119 

married  and  provided  for  it  would  take  a  great 
load  off  my  mind." 

Blair,  having  disposed  of  his  protege  and 
washed  his  hands  with  Mr.  Landor  and  William 
John  at  the  back  of  the  house,  came  round  to  the 
front  again.  An  impulse  seized  Britomart  to 
tell  this  man  her  troubles  and  hear  his  solu 
tion  of  them  in  her  mother's  presence. 

"Mr.  Blair,  my  mother  thinks  I  ought  to 
marry  Miller,  the  Belleville  editor,  even  though 
I  hate  him,  because  he  can  support  me,  and  my 
father  cannot  much  longer.  What  shall  I 
do !  What  shall  I  do !"  and,  in  a  storm  of  sobs 
she  buried  her  head  in  her  mother's  lap. 

Both  Blair  and  Mrs.  Landor  were  startled  at 
the  girl's  demonstration.  Their  eyes  met  for  an 
instant  in  helpless  pity.  Mrs.  Landor  caressed 
the  dark  head  in  her  lap  in  miserable  silence. 
Blair  sat  down  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  platform 
and,  clasping  a  knee  with  his  hands,  gazed  away 
over  the  grove. 

"Poor  little  toad,"  he  murmured.  "Poor  little 
toad !" 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Landor's  dislike  for  Blair 
died,  and  a  premonition  came  to  her  that  through 
him  "a  way  out"  would  be  found  for  Britomart. 
There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  broken 
only  by  Britomart's  sobs.  At  last  these  ceased 
and  she  raised  her  head,  her  face  showing  the 
effect  of  the  storm  which  had  passed  over  her. 
It  had  been  an  exhibition  unpn  'edented  in  Mrs. 
Landor's  experience.  She  ha  not  seen  Brito- 


120  BRITOMART, 

mart  weep  since  the  days  of  her  childhood ;  and, 
had  her  mother  but  known  it,  it  was  not  so 
much  her  own  dilemma  as  that  of  the  entire 
race  of  womankind  which  called  forth  that  de 
spairing  storm  of  tears.  The  fate  which  threat 
ened  her  was  the  fate  of  the  feminine  \vorld,  and 
the  horror  of  it  overcame  her,  hence  her  in 
stinctive  turning  for  sympathy  to  the  Socialist. 

Mr.  Landor  and  William  John  came  round  the 
house  all  washed  and  ready  for  tea. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Britomart?"  inquired 
William  John. 

Mrs.  Landor  made  a  sign  that  he  should  be 
silent,  then  Blair  turned  and  addressed  Brito 
mart  exactly  as  though  they  were  alone. 

"When,  in  my  wanderings — and  I  am  a  wan 
derer,  Miss  Landor. — I  come  across  personal 
ities  like  yours,  strong  to  influence  their  fellow- 
men,  active,  progressive,  I  long  to  set  them 
thinking — learning — doing !  I  crave  your  youth, 
strength  and  beauty  for  our  cause — for  the  cause 
of  right  and  humanity.  Leave  the  marrying 
and  giving  in  marriage,  the  rearing  of  children, 
and  the  keeping  of  houses,  to  such  women  as — 
well,  our  pretty  little  neighbor  on  the  hill  over 
there ;  but  for  yourself,  I  believe  yours  might  be 
a  broader  mission." 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  minute.  Wil 
liam  John  kicked  abstractedly  at  a  pebble  in  the 
path.  There  was  a  stern  look  on  John  Lander's 
face,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drooped  with 
the  seriousness  of  his  thoughts.  In  the  heart  of 


THE  SOCIALIST.  121 

the  mother  a  new  fear  was  rising,  a  fear  for  the 
future  of  this  handsome  daughter,  from  whom 
safety  and  humble  domesticity,  such  as  she  had 
always  foreseen  for  her,  seemed  to  be  slipping 
away.  If  she  only  could  have  loved  Henry  Mil 
ler  !  But  in  Britomart's  heart  hope  was  coming 
like  the  rising  of  the  dawn.  Why  was  it  that 
this  man,  Dennis  Blair,  could  always  dispel  the 
shadows  of  her  life. 

She  went  to  his  side.  "If  you  think  there  is 
anything  in  me  worthy  of  this  work,  if  nature  has 
endowed  me  with  capabilities  which  study  might 
perfect,  if  I  might  prove  of  benefit  to  the  cause 
we  have  at  heart,  I  hereby  dedicate  myself  to  it, 
body  and  soul!" 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  his  white, 
supple  one  closed  over  it  tightly,  locking  it  for 
a  moment  from  sight.  To  the  mother,  sitting  in 
the  doorway,  it  was  like  an  espousal,  not  to  the 
man  who  held  her  daughter's  hand,  but  to  a 
cause,  an  idea,  shadowy,  uncertain  and  danger 
ous. 

"In  the  meantime,  you  must  live,"  continued 
Blair ;  "and  so  must  we.  Mrs.  Landor  is  pa 
tience  itself  to  wait  so  long.  Let  us  go  in  to 
tea." 

At  the  supper  table  the  subject  was  discussed 
exhaustively  by  the  family,  and  Blair  unfolded 
his  plan.  Britomart  must  perfect  herself  at 
something  with  which  to  make  a  living.  He 
suggested  it  should  be  her  musicN  He  believed 
in  it  and  in  her  exceptional  willingness  and  abil- 


122  BRITOMART, 

ity  to  work.  "One  who  proposes  to  be  success 
ful  in  music,"  he  said,  "must  not  have  a  lazy  hair 
in  his  head." 

Britomart  laughed.  "I  wonder  what  old  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Leven  would  say  to  that  doctrine. 
They  believe  music  should  only  be  indulged  in 
during  moments  of  rare  idleness." 

William  John  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "I 
don't  think  any  of  you  do  Leven's  folks  justice." 
he  said.  "Of  course,  they  are  just  plain,  old- 
fashioned  farmer  people,  but  not  to  be  laughed  at 
for  that." 

"You  are  a  good  boy,  William  John,  to  stick 
up  for  people  who  abuse  you — old  Leven  does, 
and  Tilly  too,  for  that  matter." 

"No  such  thing !"  declared  William  John,  and 
Britomart  said  no  more,  but  joined  in  the  con 
versation,  which  drifted  back  to  her  own  future. 

Blair  advised  that  she  go  to  the  city  in  the 
fall  to  study  music.  He  promised  to  aid  her  in 
meeting  expenses  by  obtaining  a  few  scholars 
for  her,  and  perhaps  some  work  in  a  humble 
capacity  in  a  publishing  house  with  which  he  was 
connected  in  an  indirect  way.  This  would  give 
her  an  opportunity  to  study  the  social  question, 
not  only  in  books  but  also  in  the  streets  of  a 
great  city. 

"I  want  your  heart  to  be  in  it  so  seriously 
that,  like  great  reformers,  you  will  be  willing 
to  lay  aside  all  questions  of  personal  interest,  to 
devote  strength,  happiness,  and  if  need  be,  life, 
to  the  cause  you  espouse.  It  is  such  people  we 


THE  SOCIALIST.  123 

want — both  men  and  women.  If,  after  awhile, 
you  find  you  are  not  equal  to  this,  that  your 
zeal  is  not  great  enough  for  such  sacrifices,  there 
will  have  been  no  great  harm  done,  at  least." 

"You  need  not  fear  that !"  exclaimed  Brito- 
mart.  "Ignorant  as  I  still  am  of  the  breadth 
of  the  question,  I  could  die,  like  Joan  of  Arc,  for 
my  country !" 

"Ah,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  will  not  be  called 
upon  to  face  literal  death,  but  instead  the  flames 
of  disdain,  the  sharp  sword  of  sarcasm.  The 
bitter  hurt  of  being  misunderstood  is  worse  than 
physical  torture.  It  is  to  work  with  no  hope 
of  immediate  reward — :or  reward  at  any  time — 
this  is  the  hard  task  I  set  you." 

There  was  a  quick  step  on  the  porch,  and  the 
next  instant  the  door  flew  open  and  a  young 
man  entered  with  a  small  satchel  in  his  hand. 

"Paul!"  cried  Britomart,  and  John  Landor 
said,  "Well,  well !"  while  William  John  stumbled 
over  his  chair  in  his  eagerness  to  greet  his 
brother. 

"What  brings  you  home?"  asked  his  mother, 
while  hurriedly  making  preparations  to  warm 
over  the  remnants  of  the  supper  for  Paul. 

"Got  nothing  to  do,"  announced  the  new 
comer,  sullenly. 

"Dear  me!"  lamented  Mrs.  Landor;  "Too 
bad !" 

"I  don't  know  as  it  is  so  bad."  Paul  flung 
out  the  words  angrily.  "It  was  no  job  at  best. 
Look  at  the  way  I've  been  working  for  the  last 


124  BRITOMART, 

two  years !  Put  in  my  time  learning  my  trade, 
and  since  that  have  worked  one  month  and  laid 
off  three,  eating  up,  meanwhile,  everything  I 
earned.  I  tell  you,  I  am  sick  of  it !  The  other 
fellows  tramp.  When  the  shops  shut  down  in 
one  town  they  go  on  a  roaring  drunk,  have  one 
good  time  with  whatever  they  have  left,  and  then 
go  box-earring  to  some  other  place  to  find  a 
job." 

"Dear  me!"  reiterated  good  Mrs.  Landor, 
"Are  they  all  like  that,  Paul?  I  am  glad  you 
are  not  going  to  stay  among  them  if  that  is  the 
case." 

"Humph !  What  difference  does  it  make  ? 
I've  got  to  work  somewhere,  and  in  Chicago, 
where  I  think  of  going,  it  may  be  worse  yet,  and 
Lord  knows  whether  I  can  get  a  job  at  all  when 
I  get  there." 

"Don't  go,"  trembled  his  mother.  "Stay  here 
at  home  with  us  on  the  farm." 

Paul  laughed  recklessly. 

"That  was  the  reason  I  pulled  out  of  here  in 
the  first  place,  because  there  was  danger  of  us  all 
getting  run  out  on  the  mortgage.  I  thought  I 
was  going  to  do  great  things  by  hard  work  and 
being  steady,  but  there  is  no  premium  on  being 
steady,  I  can  tell  you.  Men  give  you  no  credit 
for  that.  A  drunken  tramp  is  most  always  a 
good  all-round  man,  so  long  as  he  is  sober ;  and 
for  obvious  reasons,  he  is  sober  until  he  gets  his 
first  wages,  and  when  he  drinks  so  hard  he  can't 
attend  to  his  work  there  will  be  no  loss  in  dis- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  125 

charging  him,  for  there  are  from  six  to  a  dozen 
of  his  like,  just  as  good,  sitting  in  a  row,  waiting 
and  longing  to  take  his  place.  They  will  work 
cheap,  too,  in  spite  of  the  unions,  to  get  enough 
to  satisfy  their  cravings  for  food  and  drink." 

"The  same  old  story  \"  cried  Britomart,  pas 
sionately  ;  "the  same  old  tragedy !  Mother,  how 
dared  you  and  father  bring  children  into  the 
world  to  face  such  awful  problems !" 

Her  father  answered  the  question:  "God 
knows,  my  girl,  I  should  have  trembled  at  the 
responsibility  if  I  had  known,  but  until  I  read 
Blair's  books  here,  and  talked  with  him,  I  didn't 
realize  where  we  American  farmers  had  got  our 
selves." 

Paul  Landor  had  taken  but  small  notice  of 
the  stranger  in  his  home  until  his  father's  words 
aroused  his  interest,  and  he  turned  with  a  look 
of  curiosity  at  the  man  he  had  ignored  before. 

"What  books  ?"  he  asked  sullenly. 

Blair  had  risen.  "I  must  go,"  he  said ;  "I 
have  work  to  do.  Whatever  books  they  are? 
they  are  at  your  service.  I  may  be  able  to  help 
you  to  a  job  in  Chicago ;  and  if  I  can,  be  sure  I 
will.  Good-night." 

"He  is  a  striking-looking  fellow.  Where  did 
he  come  from?"  asked  Paul.  And  straightway 
Paul  was  taken  into  the  family  confidence,  and 
the  clock  struck  twelve  and  still  the  Laridors — 
father,  sons  and  daughter — sat  about  the  clean 
dining  room,  which  was  lighted  by  one  small 
lamp,  and  discussed  the  social  problems  of  the 


126  BR1TOMART, 

day,  their  own  financial  difficulties,  Britomart's 
plans,  and  most  earnestly  of  all,  Dennis  Blair, 
his  work  and  words. 

"I'm  going  to  see  this  fellow  tomorrow !"  cried 
Paul.  "By  George !  I've  got  a  big  respect  for 
a  fellow,  I  don't  care  who  he  is — an  ex-con' 
even — who  looks  at  these  things  as  he  does. 
There  is  something  mighty  unjust  somewhere,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  the  more  you  get  out  into  the 
world  and  knock  up  against  it,  the  more  you 
find  it  out." 

True  to  his  word,  the  next  morning,  bright 
and  early,  found  Paul  Landor  at  Dennis  Blair's 
door,  and  never  a  day  passed  after  that  in  which 
Blair  did  not  find  a  few  minutes  to  talk  with 
the  headstrong,  impulsive  boy,  who  was,  he  dis 
covered,  well  on  the  road  to  ruin,  owing  to  the 
influences  of  bad  companions  and  hopeless  labor. 

"They  are  all  bad,  and  why  shouldn't  they  be?" 
demanded  Paul.  "Mechanics  can't  hold  a  job 
and  support  a  family  and  enjoy  a  home  any 
more.  Their  work  only  lasts  at  best  a  few 
months  at  a  time  in  a  place;  then  they  must 
tramp  or  starve.  What  effect  does  this  way  of 
living  have  on  men  ?" 

"Makes  a  nation  of  tramps,"  Blair  assented, 
sadly.  "But  you,  Paul  Landor,  the  world  has 
work  for  such  as  you,  though  you  starve  in  the 
doing  of  it.  In  the  first  place,  I  want  you  to 
take  care  of  your  sister  during  her  study-time  in 
Chicago.  I  consider  her  a  wonderful  woman. 
I  have  long  known  that  there  was  work  in  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  127 

socialistic  field  for  a  few  women  with  good  phy 
siques,  ready  wit,  and  strong  white  hands,  ca 
pable  of  beckoning  rough  men  to  something 
better  than  they  have  known,  a  more  concerted 
action.  Such  women  have,  at  certain  times  and 
places,  more  influence  than  the  most  brilliant 
men.  Aside  from  this  work,  however,  she  must 
have  an  honest  way  to  earn  her  bread.  You 
must  help  her  prepare  for  this." 

"You  bet  I'll  help  her !"  said  Paul.  "Mother 
was  telling  me  they  were  trying  to  marry  her 
to  that  damned  Belleville  'Weekly'  man,  Miller. 
Instead  of  giving  him  Britomart  I'll  give  him 
a  thrashing  for  an  editorial  which  came  out  in 
his  sniveling  little  one-horse  sheet  awhile  ago, 
against  workingmen's  unions.  I  tell  you  if  it 
weren't  for  the  unions  I  don't  know  how  labor 
ing  men  would  ever  get  their  rights." 

"The  first  thing  we  laboring  men  have  to  learn 
is  to  keep  our  tempers,"  answered  Blair.  "We 
'thrash'  too  much,  my  boy.  Less  talking — more 
working  in  harmony.  Nothing  is  gained  by 
wrangling,  and  it  wears — it  wears.  Work,  use 
your  influence,  but  keep  your  temper." 

"Mr.  Blair,  that  is  almost  impossible.  Some- 
time's  I  feel  like  turning  anarchist  and  blowing 
up  everything  in  sight  with  dynamite !" 

"And  it  is  men  of  this  stamp — thoughtless, 
ignorant  blunderers — who  handicap  the  cause  of 
Socialism !"  Blair  said,  sternly. 

Paul  reddened  and  for  a  "moment  was  inclined 
to  resent  the  man's  impudence. 


128  BR1TOMART, 

Blair  continued :  "There's  nothing  our  ene 
mies  love  to  say  of  us  so  much  as  that  we  are 
anarchists  at  heart ;  that,  if  we  had  our  way,  we 
would  bring  about  another  French  Revolution. 
It  is  not  by  such  methods  we  would  work.  It 
must  be  by  the  better,  surer  way  of  education." 

"And  meantime  die  of  want !  A  starving  man 
can't  stop  to  argue  with  a  thief  who  has  stolen 
his  crust." 

Blair  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "If  the  thief  is 
the  stronger  of  the  two,  little  he  will  care  for 
the  puny  kicking  of  a  dwarf  about  his  shins."" 

"The  American  laborer  is  no  dwarf,  Mr. 
Blair." 

"In  his  present  unorganized  state  he  is  a 
dwarf,  writhing  in  the  clutches  of  the  giant  Cap 
ital.  When  .he  conies  to  know  how  to  use  his 
strength  to  the  best  advantage  he  will  surely  con 
quer  ;  but  that  day  is  not  yet.  In  the  meantime 
it  is  the  duty  of  the  more  intelligent  among  us 
to  study — make  ourselves  masters  of  facts  in 
order  to  enlighten  our  less  fortunate  brothers. 
We  must  also  learn  to  use  tact  in  doing  this,  for 
men  do  not  like  to  be  convicted  o'f  ignorance." 

"Your  brother's  resolve  to  seek  work  in  Chi 
cago  simplifies  our  plans  a  good  deal,"  Blair 
said  to  Britomart  one  evening.  ""You  need  his 
help  and  he  certainly  needs  yours.  He  is  hot 
headed  and  obstinate  to  a  degree,  and  has  mucfl 
to  learn.  I  should  hesitate  about  advising  him 
to  seek  work  in  Chicago  if  it  were  not  for  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  129 

restraining  influence  you  may  have  upon  him 
there.  He  looks  at  life  through  revengeful  eyes." 

"Paul  is  not  easy  to  manage,"  Britomart 
owned,  "and  my  influence,  I  am  afraid,  will  count 
very  little  with  him;  but  yours,  Mr.  Blair,  will 
be  everything." 

"It  will  take  us  both,"  Blair  said,  reflectively; 
"and  you  have  more  influence  over  him  than 
you  know." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  any,  but  I  do  know 
that  if  any  other  man  had  said  the  things  which 
you  have  said  to  Paul  there  would  have  been  a 
good  deal  of  unpleasantness." 

Blair  smiled  but  made  no  answer,  and  they 
went  in  to  begin  the  lesson  which  must  be  neg 
lected  for  nothing.  Britomart  was  working 
hard  to  acquire  all  the  knowledge  and  practice 
possible  before  her  advent  into  the  city  and  the 
assumption  of  more  serious  study. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"It's  like  a  funeral,  isn't  it?" 

Britomart  was  standing  with  William  John  in 
the  door  of  the  little  brown  house  amid  the 
wheatfields.  It  was  late  September,  and  Blair 
had  finished  the  book  he  had  come  into  the 
country  to  write,  bidden  them  all  good-bye  that 
morning,  and  gone  to  Chicago,  accompanied  by 
Paul.  The  door  of  the  house  stood  open,  and 
there  was  a  mark  on  the  sod  where  the  boxes 
had  been  dragged  to  the  express  wagon  which 
had  come  from  Belleville  to  take  them  away. 

"When  he  went  to  pay  his  rent  old  Leven  read 
him  a  lecture  on  the  evils  of  his  ways." 

"Humph!"  grunted  William  John.  "What 
did  Blair  say  to  him  ?" 

"Not  a  word.  He  meekly  took  it  all,  because 
Leven  is  an  old  man  and  has  had  but  little 
chance  to  remedy  his  ignorance.  Blair  says  he 
feels  a  pity  for  such  a  man  which  is  a  pain." 

William  John  grunted  again.  "That  old  man 
gives  me  a  pain  continually."  Old  Leven  had 
not  been  very  polite  to  William  John  of  late  on 
account  of  their  differences  of  opinion,  although 
William  John  had  harbored  no  very  rabid  So 
cialistic  views  and  had  taken  particular  pains  not 
to  air  those  he  had  in  the  old  man's  presence. 

"He  knows  as  much  as  Tilly,  and  more,  too,"1 
said  Britomart.  "William  John,  I  can't  bear  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  131 

thought  of  your  marrying  Tilly  Leven  !  What  is 
there  about  the  girl  which  attracts  you?  You 
are  such  a  sensible  boy,  and  Tilly  talks  non 
sense  ;  you  like  to  think  of  great  things,  and 
Tilly  cares  for  nothing  but  to  fix  herself  up  and 
crochet  edges  for  her  skirts." 

"She's  only  a  domestic  little  body,  to  be  sure, 
Bee ;  but  I  like  such  women." 

"Oh,  then,  I've  nothing  more  to  say !"  snapped 
Britomart.  "If  your  taste  runs  to  imbeciles,  of 
course  you  have  the  best  right  in  the  world  to 
indulge  it!" 

"You  are  awful  hard  on  her,  Britomart.  You 
are  very  bright — away  above  the  average — ancf 
of  course  you  look  down  on  a  simple  little  thing 
like  Tilly." 

"Oh,  William  John,  you've  been  kissing  the 
Blarney  stone.  Don't  try  to  flatter  me." 

But  she  could  not  help  being  a  little  pleased 
that  William  John  had  such  a  high  opinion  of 
her  powers. 

"I  don't  know,  Bee ;  but  ever  since  I've  grown 
a  man  I've  had  a  picture  in  my  mind  of  Tilly  sit 
ting  by  an  open  window  with  a  Bible  in  her  lap, 
a  bunch  of  posies  in  a  glass  can  on  the  window 
sill,  her  light  hair  all  in  cunning  little  ringlets 
around  her  forehead,  and  something  white  about 
her  throat ;  and  there  she  sits,  waiting  for  me 
10  come  home  to  supper.  I  saw  her  sitting  like 
that  once  long  ago,  and  I  always  dream  of  that 
picture  when  I  think  of  our  married  life." 

"Oh,  William  John,  you  are  chasing  a  Will-o- 


132  BRITOMART, 

the  wisp.  The  girl  you  love  is  not  Tilly  Leven 
at  all,  but  one  manufactured  out  of  your  own 
brain,  and  who  never  had  an  existence  anywhere 
else;  but  I  shan't  bother  you  any  more  about 
the  matter,  and  if  you  marry  Tilly,  I'll  do  my 
best  to  be  a  sister  to  her.  It's  going  to  be  awful 
hard  work."  She  gave  him  a  loving  little  push 
as  he  went  round  the  house  on  his  way  to  their 
meadow. 

She  watched  him  go  out  of  sight,  then  sat 
down  on  the  steps  to  think  awhile.  Since  she 
knew  she  was  to  leave  it,  this  quiet  country  life 
had  an  added  charm  for  her.  It  was  so  still  in 
the  old  deserted  garden.  The  sun  shone  hot  on 
the  lilac  bushes,  and  Britomart  drowsily  watched 
the  cobwebs  which  stretched  from  bough  to 
bough.  She  was  thinking  how  restful  it  was 
and  that  she  hated  to  move,  to  break  the  silence, 
when  a  sudden  whir  of  buggy  wheels  broke  it 
for  her,  and  a  dripping  horse  was  reined  to  the 
gate. 

Henry  Miller  descended  from  the  carriage  and 
came  up  the  walk  toward  her.  She  had  not  seen 
him  since  the  Sunday  she  declined  to  go  driving 
with  him,  and  she  was  vexed  that  he  should  find 
her  here,  mooning  about  Blair's  deserted  cot 
tage.  It  would  lend  color  to  the  tales  which 
were  in  circulation  about  the  neighborhood  in 
regard  to  her  infatuation  for  Blair.  She  was  not 
glad  to  see  Miller,  but  she  forced  herself  to  be 
cordial.  Her  connection  with  him  had  been 
fraught  with  so  much  unhappiness  that  his  pres- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  133 

ence  could  never  be  other  than  distasteful  to  her. 

"Grieving  over  the  departed?"  he  asked, 
coolly  taking  a  seat  beside  her.  "Paul's  gone 
with  him,  hey?" 

"Yes,"  Britomart  responded,  "and  I'm  going 
in  a  couple  of  months." 

Miller  grew  red  and  little  beads  of  sweat  began 
to  form  around  his  mustache. 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Britomart?"  he  asked, 
and  his  voice  trembled.  He  never  meant  any 
of  the  time  to  give  up  this  magnificent  girl.  He 
only  meant  to  make  her  realize  the  chances  she 
was  taking  in  not  bending  to  his  will;  but  he 
feared,  at  this  moment,  he  had  carried  his  pun 
ishment  too  far. 

"To  be  sure  I  mean  it,"  Britomart  said. 

"You  are  going  to  marry  that  anarchist?" 

"What  anarchist?  Mr.  Miller,  you  frighten 
me !"  She  rose  and  pulled  her  skirts  together 
in  her  hand  as  though  she  would  run  away. 

Miller  ignored  her  jest. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  Dennis  Blair?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  At  least  he  has  never 
hinted  such  a  thing." 

"Perhaps  he  disbelieves  in  marriage,  along 
with  all  other  law." 

"He  is  a  great  believer  in  law,  Mr.  Miller,  a 
great  admirer  of  law  and  justice,  and  he  has 
taught  me  much  concerning  it." 

"Well,  let's  not  talk  of  him  any  more,  Bee ; 
he's  gone  and  we've  done  with  him.  I  have 
come  for  a  serious  talk  with  you,  and  I  am  glad 


134  BRITOMART, 

I  have  found  you  up  here  alone.  I  haven't  been 
doing  right  for  the  last  few  weeks,  I  acknowl 
edge,  and  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  put  out 
with  me.  I  am  sorry  for  the  way  I  have  acted, 
and  have  come  out  here  to  ask  your  forgive 
ness." 

He  reached  for  her  hand,  and,  a  little  to  his 
surprise,  she  gave  it  to  him  at  once  and  hastened 
to  say :  "I  think  you  wrong  yourself,  Mr.  Mil 
ler." 

"Don't  'Mr.  Miller'  me,  Britomart." 

"You  haven't  done  wrong  by  me,  I  am  sure, 
and  I  have  no  hard  feeling  in  my  heart  for  you. 
Let  that  suffice.  I'm  sure  we  shall  always  be  the 
best  of  friends."  Then  she  tried  to  withdraw 
her  hand,  but  he  held  it  fast. 

"No,  Britomart,  we  must  be  more  or  less  than 
friends.  I  want  you  for  my  wife,  and  you  are 
the  only  girl  in  the  country  I  do  want;  and 
what's  more,  I'm  bound  to  have  you.  You  were 
all  right  before  that — well,  that  Blair  fellow, 
came  sneaking  around ;  you  know  you  were." 

"That  'Blair  fellow,'  as  you  call  him,  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  change  in  my  mind — that  is, 
nothing  directly." 

"Well,  it's  all  over  now,  as  I  said  before,  Brito 
mart,  and  I'm  willing  to  forgive  you  for  it.  As 
I  said  just  now,  I  haven't  done  right  myself. 
I've  been  flirting  outrageously  with  that  little 
niece  of  Dr.  McDougal's,  Miss  St.  Clare;  and 
she,  poor  little  thing,  is  quite  infatuated  with 
me — runs  after  me  all  the  time." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  135 

Britomart  again  attempted,  unsuccessfully,  to 
withdraw  her  hand  from  his  clasp. 

"Then  why  don't  you  make  her  happy  by 
marrying  her  ?  Please  let  go  my  hand,  Mr.  Mil 
ler;  you  hurt  me." 

"Now,  Britomart,  don't  keep  up  your  jealousy 
any  longer.  It's  all  over  between  me  and  Mattie 
St.  Clare.  I  don't  want  her ;  I  want  you,  and  I'm 
sure  if  I  am  willing  to  forgive  you  for  your 
flirtation  with  the  anarchist,  you  ought  to  be 
willing  to  overlook  mine  with  Mattie.  But  that's 
the  way  with  women ;  it's  all  right  when  they  are 
flirting,  but  the  devil  is  to  pay  when  the  man 
begins  the  same  thing." 

Britomart  rose  hurriedly  and  stood  in  the 
path. 

"You  must  be  very  dull  indeed  if  you  can't 
understand  that  I  am  not  jealous  of  Mattie  St. 
Clare.  I  am  willing  you  should  wait  upon  her 
and  marry  her  to  your  heart's  content,  Mr.  Mil 
ler.  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you.  I  do  want 
to  be  friends  with  you,  but  to  marry  you,  I  never 
shall.  Let  us  drop  the  subject.  It  is  not  that 
I  am  jealous  or  angry  or  not  sure  of  my  own* 
feelings.  I  never  loved  you,  and  I  had  no  busi 
ness  to  encourage  you." 

"But  you  did  encourage  me.  For  over  a  year 
I  came  to  your  house,  and  you  intended  to  marry 
me;  now,  didn't  you?" 

Britomart  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  did. 

"Then  what  made  you  change  your  mind  so 
suddenly?  Don't  tell  me,  Britomart  Landor, 


136  BRITOMART, 

that  it  was  not  Blair  who  did  it.  You  are  in 
love  with  him  and  you  intend  to  tag  him  to  the 
city,  whether  he  wants  you  or  not,  and  I  don't 
much  believe  he  does.  Mark  my  words,  it  will" 
be  a  sorry  day  for  you  when  you  go  to  Chicago." 

Britomart's  face  was  aflame.  She  felt  as 
though  she  must  step  to  Miller's  side  and  strike 
him. 

"I  have  offered  to  be  your  friend;  I  withdraw 
that  offer,"  she  said.  "I  hope  never  to  see  your 
face  again,"  and  she  swept  down  the  path  and 
out  at  the  gate,  walking  swiftly  down  the  hill. 

Miller  stood  glaring  after  her  through  his 
spectacles,  his  puffy  face  red  with  emotion.  The 
farther  the  possibility  of  his  getting  this  girl  re 
ceded  from  him,  the  more  ardent  1iis  desire  for 
her  became.  It  was  not  altogether  his  admira 
tion  for  her  which  actuated  him.  It  was  more  a 
feeling  of  revenge  toward  Dennis  Blair,  and  spite 
and  hatred  for  Britomart  herself.  He  ground 
an  oath  between  his  teeth  and  hurried  to  untie 
his  horse.  A  buggy  came  over  the  hill,  and 
Brother  Granby's  fat,  self-satisfied  face  came 
into  view  like  a  rising  moon. 

"Good-afternoon,  good-afternoon,  Brother 
Miller.  How  are  you  today?" 

An  inspiration  seized  Henry  Miller.  If  he 
could  not  hold  Britomart  to  her  allegiance  by 
his  own  will,  he  would  enlist  the  powers  sur 
rounding  her — her  pastor,  her  mother,  father, 
brothers — anybody  and  everybody.  He  felt  he 
could  almost  sacrifice  his  political  convictions, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  137 

for  a  time  at  least,  to  accomplish  his  purpose  of 
making  her  his  wife. 

"I  am  very  well  in  health — in  health,  Mr. 
Granby;  but — "  with  a  sheepish  smile — "I  am 
not  very  happy  just  at  present.  You  know  I 
have  been  paying  my  addresses  to  Miss  Landor 
for  over  a  year  now." 

"Yes,  yes ;  Lord  bless  you,"  interpolated 
Brother  Granby. 

"And  everything  was  very  pleasant;  her 
mother  was  willing  and  all  her  people  were  well 
pleased.  She  herself  was  very  grateful  for  my 
attentions,  as  well  she  might  be,  if  I  do  say  it." 

"Certainly,  certainly." 

"She  is  not  considered  a  pretty  girl,  and  her 
people  are  in  rather  straitened  circumstances. 
She  has  never  moved  in  any  society  to  speak  of, 
and  I,  being  a  business  man  and  fairly  well-to- 
do — well,  Mr.  Granby,  you  understand  it  would 
have  been  rather  a  pleasant  arrangement  for  the 
Landors,  especially  Frank,  whose  business  de 
pends  on  my  paper  for  advertising ' 

"Just  so,  just  so,"  assented  the  minister, 
reaching  a  big  flabby  hand  for  the  whip  with 
which  to  flick  off  a  fly. 

"Then  this  man — this  Blair — comes  along  and 
puts  the  d —  all  sorts  of  notions  into  her  head, 
makes  love  to  her  on  the  sly,  and  the  fat  is  all  in 
the  fire.  She  actually  contemplates  following 
the  fellow  to  the  city — to  the  city,  mind  you — 
she,  an  unprotected  girl !  A  country  girl,  with 


138  BRITOMART, 

no  more  knowledge  of  the  world  than  a  baby. 
What  will  become  of  her  ?" 

"It  is  terrible!"  cried  Brother  Granbyl  "it  is 
terrible !  What  can  Brother  Landor  be  thinking 
of !  What  can  Sister  Landor  be  thinking  of !" 

"I  wish — I  wish—"  faltered  Miller,  with  be 
coming  modesty;  "I  wish  you  would  speak  to 
her  parents  or  her  brothers.  Of  course,  I  don't 
know  as  there  could  ever  be  anything  between 
us  after  this,  but  for  the  girl's  sake,  whom  I  pity 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  wish  you  would 
speak  to  her  parents." 

"Tut,  tut,  Brother  Miller ;  don't  say  that.  You 
must  be  willing  to  forgive.  Of  course  you  must. 
You  must  take  her  back  to  your  heart  again. 
I  shall  certainly  speak  to  her  people;  and  never 
fear,  I  can  open  their  eyes  a  bit,  I  assure  you. 
Brother  Landor  is  a  conscientious  man  and  a 
consistent  member  of  the  church,  and  when  he 
is  aroused — aroused,  enlightened,  mind  you,  as 
to  the  facts  in  the  case,  you  need  have  no  fear 
in  regard  to  this  misguided  girl.  It  is  terrible, 
terrible,  that  such  people  are  abroad  in  the  land 
to  lead  unsuspecting  youth  astray !  I  will  drive 
right  down  to  Brother  Lander's." 

And  so  it  was  that  Britomart,  flushed  and 
panting,  had  not  yet  removed  her  hat  when  the 
messenger  of  peace  arrived  and  proceeded  to  tie 
his  horse.  John  Landor,  coming  up  from  the 
barns,  which  were  across  the  road  from  the 
house,  encountered  him  at  the  gate,  and  the 
labor  of  rescue  began. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  139 

The  Landor  men  had  left  the  field  early  in 
order  that  William  John  might  take  the  team 
and  go  after  Mary  and  Sir  Bumpy,  who  was 
coming  to  make  his  first  visit  at  his  paternal 
grandfather's.  Mrs.  Landor  was  bustling  about 
making  preparations  for  an  extra  tea  in  Mary's 
honor. 

"There,  isn't  it  lucky,"  she  said  to  Britomart, 
as  she  entered,  "that  we've  got  blackberries 
enough  for  supper.  Here's  the  minister,  and  it 
looks  as  though  he  was  going  to  stay  to  tea." 

"Goodness !"  snapped  Britomart,  "I  wisTi  he 
were  a  thousand  miles  away.  He  is  always  just 
where  you  don't  want  him !" 

"Britomart,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Landor,  "is 
that  the  way  to  speak  of  your  pastor  ?" 

"But  I've  something  to  tell  you,  mother " 

Any  further  explanation  was  cut  short  by  the 
entrance  of  Mr.  Landor  with  Brother  Granby, 
who  bore  a  grieved  look  on  his  face,  evidently 
believing  he  had  been  treated  disrespectfully. 

"Now,  here  she  is,  Brother  Granby,  and  if  you 
have  anything  to  say  on  the  subject,  you  must 
say  it  to  her.  My  daughter  is  old  enough,  and 
I  believe  smart  enough,  to  look  out  for  herself. 
Britomart,  Brother  Granby  thinks  you  have 
made  a  great  mistake  in  throwing  over  your 
chance  to  marry  Henry  Miller  and  going  to  the 
city  instead.  He  doesn't  think  you  will  be  safe 
in  the  city;  he  doesn't  think  the  ones  who  ad 
vised  you  to  make  the  move  are  reliable  folks." 

Britomart  bowed  coolly,  and  placed  a  chair  for 


140  BRITOMART, 

the  minister  and  sat  down  herself,  determined 
to  keep  her  temper  no  matter  at  what  cost. 
Was  ever  a  girl  so  beset  ? 

Brother  Granby  opened  his  case  with  his 
usual  lack  of  tact,  plunging  in  and  wallowing 
like  a  porpoise  in  seas  of  supposition,  sentiment 
and  black  forebodings. 

In  the  midst  of  his  labors  a  welcome  interrup 
tion  occurred  in  the  arrival  of  Sir  Bumpy,  at 
tended  by  his  suite  of  mother  and  Uncle  William 
John.  Britomart  snatched  the  baby  from  Mary's 
arms  and  nearly  smothered  him  with  kisses. 

"Ah,"  groaned  Brother  Granby,  "and  I  had 
hoped  to  see  you,  my  dear,  misguided  young 
friend,  with  children  of  your  own  in  your  arms, 
to  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed." 

"What  in  the  world's  up?"  whispered  Mary, 
as  she  passed  Britomart  to  lay  her  things  on  the 
bed. 

Britomart  made  a  grimace  and  a  backward 
motion  of  the  head  toward  the  sighing  Brother 
Granby,  and  Mrs.  Landor  announced  that  tea 
was  ready. 

After  tea  Brother  Granby  resumed  ,his  labors. 

"Your  religion,  my  dear  Sister  Landor,  is  not 
your  religion  strong  enough  to  cause  you  to 
wish  to  do  the  will  of  the  Lord  ?" 

"Yes,  Brother  Granby,  it  is.  I  sincerely  wish 
to  do  the  will  of  the  Lord." 

"Then  why  not  give  up  the  foolish  project  of 
studying  music  in  Chicago,  and  stay  here  where 
dutv  calls  ?" 


THE  SOCIALIST.  141 

"Because  I  am  not  certain  that  it  is  the  will 
of  the  Lord  that  I  should  do  so.  I  think  it  is 
Henry  Miller's  will,  and — yours." 

Bumpy's  mother  buried  her  face  in  the  baby's 
neck  to  suppress  a  giggle,  and  Bumpy  laughed 
outright,  as  though  he  understood  the  matter. 

"And,  oh,"  continued  Brother  Granby,  "my 
heart  is  saddened  to  know  that  you  have  adopted 
these  lawless  principles  of  Socialism!" 

Britomart  took  the  baby  in  her  arms,  that 
the  contact  of  his  soft  little  body  might  restrain 
her  if  she  grew  too  harsh.  She  meant,  despite 
the  warning  looks  of  her  mother,  to  fire  some 
hard  truths  at  the  blundering  old  man,  but  she 
did  not  wish  to  be  rude.  She  would  not  for  the 
world  have  been  guilty  of  the  coarseness  in  deal 
ing  with  personalities  in  which  he  had  indulged 
since  his  entrance  into  her  home ;  but  she  in 
tended,  as  kindly  as  possible,  to  enlighten  his 
ignorance,  although  in  so  doing  she  should  be 
obliged  to  wound  his  gigantic  egotism. 

"You  speak  of  my  religion,  Brother  Granby. 
I  never  had  any  until  I  became  a  Socialist.  My 
heart  was  full  of  unspoken  anger  against  my 
fellow-men.  I  felt  that  I  and  my  people  were 
being  hardly  dealt  with;  that  we  were  called  to 
labor  hopelessly  all  our  lives,  and  hopeless  labor, 
you  will  admit,  Brother  Granby,  will  harden  the 
human  heart.  You  adjured  us  to  be  content 
because  it  was  the  will  of  the  Lord,  and  my 
heart  was  hard  and  bitter  against  God.  I  re 
fused  to  pray  to  a  God  who  claimed  to  be  just, 


142  BRITOMART, 

yet  ground  nine-tenths  of  his  subjects  into  the 
earth  in  poverty  and  gave  the  remaining  tenth 
more  than  was  good  for  them.  I  hated  my  fel 
low-men  because  I  was  jealous  and  envious  of 
the  more  fortunate.  What  kind  of  a  religion 
was  that  which  you  were  helping  to  establish  in 
my  heart?  You  see,  I  was  young  and  groping 
for  truths.  I  went  every  Sabbath  day  with  my 
people  to  hear  you  preach,  and  ever  and  always 
I  hungered  to  hear  some  word  of  comfort — of 
explanation  from  your  mouth ;  but — forgive  me, 
Brother  Granby,  this  I  know  is  a  hard  thing  to 
say — I  never  heard  one.  You  never  dropped  a 
sentence  tending  to  make  me  a  better  woman. 
You  talked  continually  of  a  Heaven  far  away  and 
shadowy;  but  I  am  young,  with  a  strong  body 
and  mind,  to  be  satisfied  somehow  in  this  world. 
I  want  a  salvation  for  my  body  as  well  as  my 
soul.  I  am  willing — yes,  anxious — to  work  and 
work  hard ;  but  I  have  an  American  spirit  in  me, 
which  forbids  that  \vork  to  be  done  for  a  master. 
We  young  Americans  have  none  of  the  old 
world  serf-spirit  born  in  us.  Y,ou  see  how  it 
was,  Brother  Granby — I  hated  God  and  I  hated 
man,  ignorant  thing  that  I  was.  I  wras  contem 
plating  marrying  a  man  whom  I  knew  I  did  not 
love  because  I  believed  it  was  the  fate  of  women 
to  submit  to  these  hard  conditions  of  God's  law. 
I  had  no  way  of  supporting  myself,  and  no 
money  to  keep  me  while  I  educated  myself  in 
some  branch  with  which  I  might  earn  that  sup 
port.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  I  hated  everything, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  143 

and  a  God  who  permitted  such  injustice  most 
of  all? 

"Then  came  Dennis  Blair,  the  Socialist,  and 
uttered  simple  truths  to  me  which  comforted  me 
and  changed  my  whole  point  of  vision;  truths 
which,  it  seems  to  me  now,  a  wayfaring  per 
son,  though  a  fool,  might  have  found  out  for 
himself.  He  told  me  simply  that  it  was  not 
God's  plan  that  there  should  always  be  grinding 
poverty  for  the  masses  and  debasing  opulence 
for  the  few.  He  laid  the  wrong  where  it  be 
longed,  at  the  door  of  human  misrule  and  ig 
norance.  He  pointed  out  to  me  that  Christ  was 
a  Socialist;  that  when  he  preached  the  sermon 
on  the  mount  his  words  were  not  mere  vapor- 
ings,  which  sounded  well  but  meant  nothing,  as 
too  many  of  our  preachers'  words  do  today,  but 
were  real,  were  actually  to  be  the  inspiration 
which  was  to  bring  about  a  condition  of  hap 
piness  and  goodness  for  all  men.  He  even  inti 
mated  that  I,  in  my  womanish  weakness,  might 
give  a  little  impetus  to  the  great  ball  of  progress, 
and,  by  setting  my  feeble  shoulder  to  the  work, 
could  send  it  a  bit  further  on  its  way.  He 
thinks  there  will  be  more  Christianity  in  this 
than  in  binding  myself  to  a  man  whom  I  dislike, 
merely  to  get  food  and  clothes. 

"You  just  now  intimated  some  fearful  dangers 
which  awaited  me  in  the  city.  Why  do  you  warn 
me  so  earnestly  of  these  sins  against  my  woman 
hood  which  I  might  be  beguiled  into  committing 
there,  yet  advise  me  to  commit  the  same  sin  here 


144  BRITOMART, 

with  the  sanction  of  the  church  and  society.  I 
tell  you  if  I  had  not  become  a  Socialist,  I  should 
have  become  an  atheist,  because  I  felt  I  could 
not  worship  a  God  so  cruel  as  to  condemn  the 
majority  of  his  creatures  to  poverty,  crime  and 
prostitution. 

"There  is  another  thing  I  wish  to  say  to  you, 
Brother  Granby,  in  all  kindness,  before  I  finish, 
and  that  is,  study  this  question  of  Socialism  a 
little.  Find  out  what  it  really  is,  and  then  you 
will  never  again  couple  the  words  Socialism  and 
anarchy  as  you  did  in  your  sermon  two  weeks 
ago.  It  is  your  duty  to  study  it;  indeed,  the 
clergy  must  study  and  embrace  it  if  they  would 
keep  their  hold  upon  the  masses.  Many  of  the 
younger  ones  are  doing  so.  The  people  want  to 
be  told  how  to  be  good ;  they  need  instruction 
and,  naturally,  they  look  to  the  pulpit  for  it. 
Their  preacher,  to  fulfill  his  mission,  must  be  in 
reality,  as  well  as  in  name,  their  teacher.  In  or 
der  to  do  this  he  must  keep  abreast  of  the  times, 
touch  the  questions  of  the  day,  even  if  by  so 
doing  he  is  obliged  to  neglect  some  of  the  'isms 
and  'ologies. 

"Forgive  me,  Brother  Granby,  for  presuming 
to  teach  a  clergyman  old  enough  to  be  my  father. 
I  should  not  have  done  it  except  to  vindicate 
myself.  You  see,  you  made  the  sweeping  ac 
cusation  that  I  was  headstrong,  would  not  accept 
the  teachings  I  was  privileged  to  hear — that  I 
was  carried  away  by  a  foolish  idea  and  a  villain- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  145 

ous  teacher.  I  had  to  vindicate  my  friend  as 
well  as  myself. 

"As  for  my  sojourn  in  the  city,  I  shall  be  as 
safe  as  the  average  young  woman.  I  am  to  keep 
house  for  my  brother,  Paul,  and  only  await  the 
word  that  he  has  found  work  to  go  to  him  and 
make  him  as  comfortable  a  little  home  as  possi 
ble  on  the  small  allowance  we  shall  possess." 

Brother  Granby  had  not  heard  this  little 
speech  in  perfect  silence.  There  had  been  horri 
fied  ejaculations  of  "Ah,  my  dear  young  friend !" 
"Hold  a  bit,  hold  a  bit;  you  are  mistaken,"  but 
in  the  main,  Britomart  held  the  floor. 

In  his  top  buggy,  an  hour  later,  jogging  to 
wards  home  through  the  dusk,  he  thought  of 
many  good  things  he  might  have  said  if  they  had 
occurred  to  him  at  the  right  time.  He  also 
thought  over  the  young  woman's  astonishing 
words  with  much  seriousness,  and  determined 
to  secretly  study  up  the  question  which  seemed 
to  have  captured  the  hearts  of  the  entire  Landor 
family.  He  tried  to  feel  that  he  had  been  unnec 
essarily  brow-beaten ;  but  upon  recalling  Brito- 
mart's  even,  quiet  manner,  her  evident  freedom 
from  anger,  being  a  just  man,  he  was  obliged  to 
admit  that,  although  sharp  and,  coming  from  so 
young  a  person,  rather  presuming,  it  in  no  way 
overstepped  the  bounds  of  politeness. 

Brother  Granby  was  a  good  man,  but  naturally 
obtuse  and  not  quick  to  grasp  new  ideas.  He 
was  kept  so  busy  with  pastoral  duties,  that  is, 
running  about  making  foolish  and  meaningless 


146  BRITOMART, 

calls,  attending  dime  suppers  and  missionary 
teas,  that  he  had  not  much  time  for  study,  and 
consequently  stood  up  to  teach  the  lesson  of 
how  to  live  rightly  in  this  day  and  age  without 
any  better  material  than  a  bundle  of  old,  worn- 
out  phrases  which  had  grown  absolutely  mean 
ingless  through  much  use. 

Mrs.  Landor  rocked  his  royal  highness,  Sir 
Bumpy,  while  the  two  young  women  went  for  a 
walk  after  Brother  Granby  had  gone. 

"It  was  dreadful,  I  think,  Britomart,  for  you 
to  talk  so  to  a  minister  of  the  gospel." 

"I  know  it,"  owned  Britomart;  "but,  Mary,  I 
just  could  not  help  it!  Think  of  the  insulting 
things  he  said  to  me — positively  insulting,  and 
all  in  that  self-satisfied  manner,  as  though  he  had 
a  perfect  right  to  because  he  was  a  minister. 
The  idea  of  his  coming  to  me  from  Henry  Mil 
ler  to  plead  his  cause  without  knowing  any  of 
my  reasons.  He  didn't  care  for  them,  you  see. 
Henry  Miller  had  reasons  and  he  considered 
those  enough." 

The  girls  walked  on  up  the  western  hill  in 
silence  until  they  arrived  at  the  little  house  on 
the  crest ;  here  they  paused  and  leaned  upon  the 
gate,  listening  to  the  peeping  and  twittering  of 
a  bird  in  the  woods  across  the  road  and  the 
boom  of  the  frogs  in  the  meadow  to  the  north. 

Mary  broke  the  silence.  "Britomart,  are  you 
sure  you  are  not  in  love  with  the  Socialist  in 
stead  of  Socialism?" 

Britomart  laughed.     "Do  you    know,    Mary, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  147 

that  has  troubled  me  a  good  deal.  I  know  the 
attacks  which  unoccupied  maiden  hearts,  the  age 
of  mine,  are  subject  to,  and  I  questioned  myself 
narrowly  to  find  out  if,  after  all,  incipient  per 
sonal  love  for  this  man,  instead  of  a  firm  and 
true  conversion  to  his  doctrines,  was  the  senti 
ment  which  actuated  me.  I  remember  when 
young  Morris,  the  evangelist,  was  here,  how 
Tilly  Leven  got  religion,  and  wouldn't  dance  nor 
go  to  the  circus,  and  how  quickly  she  recov 
ered  from  it  when  he  went  away;  and,  really,  I 
believe  if  I  could  ever  fall  in  love  with  anybody, 
it  would  be  with  Dennis  Blair.  He  is  so  good, 
so  wise,  so  unassuming.  I  consider  the  man  a 
martyr  to  his  principles.  He  is  working  night 
and  day  for  a  cause  he  believes  to  be  the  only 
hope  for  suffering  humanity.  I  admire  him,  but 
I  do  not  love  him  in  the  way  you  mean,  and  in 
the  way  I  was  afraid  of,  and" — with  a  little  shrug 
— "it  wouldn't  do  me  a  bit  of  good  if  I  did.  Love 
and  marriage  are  as  far  from  the  mind  of  Dennis 
Blair  as  is  murder." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  summer — Britomart's  last  at  home — be 
gan  to  wane.  The  grain  had  long  been  stacked 
and  much  already  thrashed,  and  farmers  were 
drawing  great  loads  to  town,  returning  with  sour 
faces  and  lank  purses.  As  usual  when  they  were 
ready  with  their  hard-earned  produce,  prices 
dropped  to  the  lowest  figure.  The  stubble 
fields  stretched  in  unbroken  regularity,  save  here 
and  there  a  rich  ribbon  of  black,  to  show  where 
some  enterprising  toiler  had  begun  his  fall  plow 
ing.  Such  a  ribbon  encircled  one  of  the  faded 
yellow  fields  of  the  Landor  farm,  and  every  day 
William  John  trudged  after  the  span  of  bays  with 
the  music  of  the  softly  ripping  earth  in  his  ears 
and  the  wholesome  smell  of  it  in  his  nostrils,  al 
ways  patient,  taking  toil  and  disappointment 
with  the  same  philosophical  sweetness.  He  was 
one  of  the  uncomplaining  ones  of  earth,  totally 
unlike  his  brother,  Paul,  who,  if  one  smote  him 
on  the  cheek,  was  apt,  in  return,  to  place  a  ring 
ing  slap  where  it  would  do  the  most  good,  before 
he  obeyed  the  Bible  injunction  and  turned  the 
other  cheek. 

William  John  was  far  from  happy.  His  love 
was  his  life,  and  whatever  occurred  to  disturb 
its  course  affected  his  peace. 

Old  Leven  had  taken  an  unreasoning  dislike 
to  the  entire  Landor  family  since  their  espousal 
of  Dennis  Blair's  doctrines.  He  never  saw  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  149 

stooping  shoulders  and  drooping  straw  hat  of 
John  Landor  near  his  own  line  but  he  began  a 
droning  conversation,  the  burden  of  which  was 
misguided  people  who  were  trying  to  ruin  tna 
country  by  harboring  new  ideas. 

At  this  time  bimetalism  was  beginning  to  agi 
tate  the  country,  and  the  papers  were  full  of  it. 
Leven  did  not  understand  the  term  very  clearly. 
He  only  knew  from  his  abusive  party  paper,  the 
only  sheet  he  ever  saw,  that  it  was  not  in  favor 
with  the  republican  party ;  hence  his  hatred  of  it. 

At  first  John  Landor  tried  to  reason  calmly 
with  his  neighbor ;  to  give  his  views  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  listen  to  Leven's,  comparing  the  ar 
guments  for  and  against.  He  soon  learned  that 
this  was  perfectly  useless.  His  neighbor  had  no 
reasons.  He  voted  the  republican  ticket  be 
cause  he  voted  the  republican  ticket,  and  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  declare  that  any  man  who  voted 
any  other  ticket,  no  matter  which,  was  a  thief 
and  a  liar.  His  fiddle-shaped  face  would  grow 
pale  with  passion,  and  his  knotty  old  hands  saw 
the  air  in  such  a  frenzy  that  John  Landor  feared 
he  might  fall  down  in  a  fit  some  day  among  his 
stocks  of  grain. 

There  had  never  been  any  great  degree  of  in 
timacy  between  the  families,  until  Tilly  set  her 
cap  at  William  John. 

Poor  William  John  !  Those  Sunday  evenings 
before  the  political  cloud  arose  were  among  the 
happiest  recollections  of  his  life.  Happy  is  too 


150  BRITOMART, 

feeble  a  word  to  describe  them.  Dazzling,  be 
wildering,  would  be  more  appropriate. 

To  think  that  he,  big,  awkward  William  John 
Landor,  should  be  tolerated  in — aye,  even  invited 
into — that  sacred  room,  the  parlor,  with  its 
store  carpet,  its  darkly  varnished  table  in  the 
middle,  with  the  best  lamp  set  squarely  in  the 
center  on  a  fringed  paper  mat,  flanked  on  one 
side  by  the  photograph  album,  on  the  other  by 
the  family  Bible,  each  with  a  crocheted  cover,  the 
work  of  Tilly's  fair  hands. 

A  carpet  lounge,  hard  as  Pharaoh's  heart,  with 
an  uncomfortable  rotundity  which,  had  William 
John  been  older  and  not  in  love,  would  have 
been  a  torture  to  him,  graced  one  side  of  the 
room.  On  one  wall  hung  a  framed  Odd  Fel 
low's  Emblem,  with  a  great  eye  in  the  center  that 
was  very  awesome  to  William  John,  as  repre 
senting  God's  eye ;  on  the  opposite  wall  a  silver 
plate  reserved  from  the  coffin-lid  of  some  de 
parted  friend,  shone  from  a  mahogany  frame 
with  as  cheerful  a  luster  as  circumstances  would 
permit.  At  times,  when  the  light  struck  it  just 
right,  the  young  man  could  discern  the  inscrip 
tion  thereon,  "Sarah  H.,  aged  21  Yrs."  A  hair 
wreath  and  a  swaying  air-castle  made  of  worn- 
out  sheets,  completed  the  decorations  of  the 
room.  The  arrangement  of  hair,  the  all-seeing 
eye,  and  even  the  coffin-plate,  were  cheerful  com 
pared  to  that  ghostly,  swaying  air-castle,  espe 
cially  in  the  dusk  of  evening  before  Tilly  came 
in  with  the  lamp.  William  John  could  not  ig- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  151 

nore  the  fact  of  its  resemblance  to  the  pale 
wraith  in  hoop-skirts  of  Sarah,  aged  21. 

But  when  Tilly  came  in  with  the  lamp,  and, 
placing  it  on  the  table,  sank  upon  the  bloated 
sofa  at  his  side,  what  rapture — what  ecstasy! 
How  soft  and  pink-and-white  and  beautiful  she 
was !  How  could  such  a  beautiful  creature  care 
for  such  a  great  clodhopper  as  himself !  In  the 
winter  time  she  wore  a  snuff-colored  henrietta 
cloth,  of  which  she  made  every  stitch  herself,  she 
told  William  John,  and  it  was  a  source  of  never- 
ending  wonder  to  him  that  a  young  girl,  unas 
sisted,  could  accomplish  such  results. 

Britomart  laughed  at  the  dress  and  scouted 
the  idea  that  it  was  a  work  of  art.  She  had  even 
intimated  to  her  brother  that  if  Tilly  were  not 
the  most  self-satisfied  young  woman  on  earth, 
she  would  know  that  the  darts  were  crooked  and 
twisted  to  one  side,  that  it  was  too  short-waisted 
and  that  the  skirt  hitched  up  in  the  back. 

"If  I  were  in  Tilly's  place  I  never  would  brag 
about  having  made  that  dress  myself,"  she  told 
William  John.  "Of  course,  it's  all  right  to  be 
economical,  and  if  you  really  had  to  wear  such  a 
garment,  wear  it,  and  say  nothing;  but  to  brag 
about  it  is  very  silly." 

But  William  John  considered  this  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  Britomart  for  a  prettier  girl,  as  very 
natural,  and  his  sister's  one  fault.  About  her 
throat  Tilly  wore  cotton  lace  supported  by  a  red 
ribbon  tie ;  a  row  of  pretty,  crimpy  frizzes  across 
her  forehead ;  and  when  William  John  grew  bold 


158  BRITOMART, 

enough  to  touch  her  hand  it  sent  a  thrill  to  the 
very  toes  of  his  best  Sunday  shoes.  Never,  if 
he  lives  a  hundred  years,  will  he  forget  those  first 
nights  of  courting  in  that  fear-inspiring  parlor. 
To  think  that  Britomart  considered  him  too 
good  for  such  a  girl ! 

All  this  happiness  was  before  John  Landor  and 
his  sons  experienced  a  change  of  heart  in  pol 
itics  ;  for,  despite  himself,  William  John  was 
obliged  to  admit  the  truth  in  what  Dennis  Blair, 
and  later  his  father,  declared,  and  when  Old 
Leven  pinned  him  with  a  knotty  forefinger  and 
thumb,  and  asked  him,  point-blank,  if  he  in 
tended  to  vote  the  republican  ticket  at  the  fall 
election,  he  stammered,  and  at  last  admitted  that 
he  did  not  think  he  should.  There  was  no  other 
way,  for  William  John  would  not  have  sacrificed 
his  convictions  even  for  his  love,  and  to  have 
lied  to  Tilly's  father  was  beyond  the  bounds  of 
possibility. 

But  what  a  change  was  there !  William  John 
saw  the  anger  leap  into  the  stupid  old  face  and 
trembled,  but  held  firm.  After  this  the  parlor 
was  closed  to  him.  Never  again  did  he  gaze  on 
the  swaying  ghost  of  Sarah,  aged  21,  nor  read 
the  inscription  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the 
same,  done  in  silver. 

Tilly  remained  true,  at  least  for  awhile,  and 
used  to  glorify  the  line  fence  by  leaning  her  red 
dened  elbows  on  it,  and  talking  across  it  to  Wil 
liam  John  surreptitiously ;  but  a  young  man  from 
"the  other  side  of  the  lake"  began  courting  her 


THE  SOCIALIST.  153 

occasionally,  and  William  John  saw  with  despair 
that  his  place  in  Tilly's  heart  was  likely  to  be 
filled  by  another,  with  a  top  buggy  and  a  double 
team. 

So  William  John  plowed  and  suffered,  and 
Britomart's  heart  bled  for  him.  There  was  so 
little  brightness  in  the  dear  boy's  life,  and  now 
this  little  gleam  was  to  be  snuffed  out.  And 
through  it  all  he  was  so  patient,  so  uncomplain 
ing.  Sometimes  the  girl  clenched  her  hands  and 
the  angry  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  She  felt  as 
though  she  would  like  to  stand  in  some  high 
place  and  hurl  invectives  at  Heaven  and  earth 
alike  for  placing  such  limitations  of  poverty  and 
labor  about  her  brother.  As  for  herself  and 
Paul,  they  were  born  fighters ;  they  would  pull 
through  somehow  or  take  it  out  of  society  in 
some  way ;  but  father,  mother  and  William  John 
meekly  fitted  the  burdens  to  their  shoulders 
and  trudged  their  weary  round. 

"William  John  should  have  gone  to  col 
lege,"  railed  Britomart,  "and  had  a  chance  to 
be  somebody,  and  he  would  have  been  some 
body,  too.  Then  he  would  have  seen  a  dif 
ferent  kind  of  a  girl  from  Tilly  Leven,  the  in 
significant  little  baggage !  But  you  take  a  good, 
green  boy  like  William  John,  let  an  idiot  like 
Tilly  Leven  begin  making  eyes  at  him,  and  no 
other  girl  within  ten  miles,  and  what  is  the  con 
sequence  ?  And  now  that  she  has  him  right  un 
der  her  thumb,  she  is  torturing  him  to  her  heart's 
content.  Do  you  know,  mother,  I  actually  be- 


154  BRITOMART, 

lieve  she  intends  throwing  him  over  for  Grady's 
hired  man;  and  William  John  is  breaking  his 
heart  over  it  and  never  saying  a  word.  It  will 
be  a  good  thing  for  him  in  the  long  run.  I  hav,e 
told  him  that  a  thousand  times,  but  it  makes  me 
mad  to  see  him  plowing  along  with  that  pathetic 
droop  to  his  mouth,  and  his  shoulders  getting 
stoopier  every  day.  If  Tilly  Leven  does  this 
that  I  expect  her  to,  and  then  ever  tries  to  hang 
around  me,  I  will  give  her  a  few  uncomfortable 
minutes  to  avenge  William  John,  I  promise 
you !" 

"Is  that  a  right  spirit,  Britomart?" 

"Perhaps  not ;  but  it  is  justice." 

Britomart  had  a  chance  to  put  her  threat  into 
execution,  for  the  late  November  snows  were 
flying  before  Paul  found  work  in  Chicago  steady 
enough  to  warrant  him  in  sending  for  Britomart^ 
and  long  before  that  time  the  hired  man  with 
a  double  team  was  making  wheel  tracks  in  an  op 
posite  direction  from  Leven's.  Tilly,  perfectly 
amiable,  and  willing  to  forgive  William  John, 
came  down  to  call  at  Landor's  about  dinner  time. 

William  John  had  gone  to  town  with  a  grist. 
Of  course,  Tilly  could  not  know  this,  and  un 
wittingly  exposed  herself  to  the  bottled-up  wrath 
of  his  revengeful  sister. 

Gentle  Mrs.  Landor  feared  the  worst  when 
she  saw  Tilly  coming  unsuspectingly  up  the  path, 
decked  out  for  conquest  in  a  brand-new  gown, 
whose  darts  and  skirt  were  more  fearfully  awry 
than  usual.  She  had  barely  time  to  shoot  an  ad- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  155 

monitory  glance  at  Britomart,  which  that  war 
like  young  person  pretended  not  to  see,  before 
the  victim  was  within  doors  and  seated  in  the 
company  chair,  her  hat  lying  on  the  bed,  and 
an  expectant  eye  bent  on  the  back  door,  where, 
according  to  her  calculations,  the  men  would 
shortly  appear  for  dinner.  After  the  usual  pre 
liminaries  about  the  weather,  Tilly  casually  men 
tioned  that  she  should  have  been  down  before, 
but  had  been  very  busy  sewing,  finishing  the 
dress  she  wore. 

"Too  bad,"  said  Britomart,  "that  you  were 
obliged  to  make  it  yourself.  One  never  gets  a 
dress  to  fit  on  one's  self.  See  how  the  darts  pull 
to  one  side,  and  how  crooked  it  fastens.  Quite 
pretty  material,  too.  For  my  part,  I  would 
rather  economize  in  quality  of  cloth  and  have 
my  dress  fitted  and  well  made  by  some  one  who 
understands  such  things.  Nowadays  the  fash 
ions  change  so  rapidly  no  one  can  keep  up  with 
them  except  professional  dressmakers.  For  in 
stance,  Miss  Gridly,  from  Orion,  was  in  town 
yesterday,  and  she  tells  me  all  shoulders  are 
made  very  short  and  the  sleeves  high.  You  see, 
you  are  away  behind  the  times.  Have  you  ever 
seen  Miss  Gridly  ?  She  is  such  a  pretty  girl,  and 
so  stylish.  William  John  is  quite  smitten  with 
her.  He  says  she  is  the  first  really  pretty  girl  he 
has  ever  seen.  Such  dark  eyes  and  hair!  I 
shouldn't  wonder  much  to  see  sleigh  tracks  start 
ing  from  our  house  in  the  direction  of  Orion 
this  winter." 


156  BRITOMART, 

Mrs.  Landor  announced  that  dinner  was  ready 
and  invited  Tilly  to  "sit  by,"  that  there  was 
plenty  of  room,  seeing  that  the  men  folks  would 
not  be  home  till  late ;  but  Tilly  declined  and,  bid 
ding  them  good  day,  hastened  home  to  twitch 
her  darts  straight  and  look  over  the  cloth  which 
was  left  of  her  dress,  to  see  if  there  was  not  at 
least  enough  to  make  new  fronts  with  different 
shaped  arm-holes. 

"Britomart,  how  can  you  be  so  mean!"  ad 
monished  Mrs.  Landor. 

Britomart  laughed.  "I  am  savage,  mother, 
when  I  think  of  this  fall  and  William  John." 

"But  such  falsehoods,  Britomart !  Who  is 
Miss  Gridly?" 

Britomart  ran  and  brought  a  big  hardware 
catalogue,  which  she  had  utilized  as  a  scrap- 
book,  and,  flapping  the  pages  over,  displayed  a 
newspaper  cut  of  a  Southern  beauty,  with  a 
round  face  and  jet-black  eyes  and  hair. 

"It  was  no  lie,  mammy,  not  a  bit  of  it.  See? 
Miss  Hattie  Gridly,  of  Orion,  Alabama;  and 
when  I  was  pasting  her  in,  William  John  looked 
over  my  shoulder  and  made  the  remark  that  she 
was  the  prettiest  girl  he  ever  saw.  Of  course, 
Miss  Mushey  did  not  stop  to  consider  that  there 
is  more  than  one  Orion  in  the  United  States. 
Let  her  fret  awhile." 

"But  William  John  will  tell  her  the  first  time 
she  questions  him,  and  then  she  will  know  you 
were  spiteful." 

"I'll  warn  him  not  to." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  157 

And  she  did;  William  John,  much  to  her  as 
tonishment  and  satisfaction,  adopting  the  Miss 
Gridly  fable  as  an  excuse  for  not  resuming  the 
former  pleasant  relations  with  Tilly  Leven.  Slow 
as  he  was,  and  hard  as  the  struggle  had  been  to 
give  up  his  first  love,  her  easy  acceptance  of  the 
attentions  of  a  hired  man  with  a  double  team, 
after  all  the  sweet  things  she  had  said  to  him, 
was  a  revelation  to  William  John.  Besides,  now 
that  he  had  more  time  to  devote  to  it,  he  was 
reading  many  of  his  sister's  books,  borrowed  of 
Dennis  Blair,  and  as  he  read  his  opinions  became 
so  pronounced  he  felt  that  he  could  never  again 
have  the  patience  with  Old  Man  Leven's  sense 
less  vaporings  which  he  once  had.  His  heart 
beat  with  brotherly  indignation  when  he  read 
Paul's  letters,  which  told  of  his  struggle  to  ob 
tain  work;  and  he  frequently  gave  vent  to  his 
strongest  expletive  of  "Darn  'em !"  as  he  read  of 
arrogance  of  the  millionaire  employers  and  the 
savage  domination  of  the  foreign  slave-drivers 
whom  they  find  it  to  their  advantage  to  make 
foremen  in  their  shops. 

"I  tell  you,"  wrote  Paul,  "I  should  have 
turned  anarchist  long  ago  if  it  were  not  for  Blair. 
He  is  like  a  flax-seed  poultice,  soothing,  at  the 
same  time,  healing.  He  is  a  grand  fellow,  and  if 
any  one  should  say  a  word  against  him  to  me 
I  would  flatten  him  out  if  I  went  to  jail  for  it — 
old  Leven  not  excepted." 

"If  you  are  a  Socialist  up  there  in  the  country, 
I  wonder  what  you  will  be  in  Chicago,-'  he  wrote 


158  BRITOMART, 

to  Britomart.  "The  abject  misery,  the  horror 
and  helplessness  of  it  makes  one  want  to  curse 
God  and  die.  One  day  I  had  been  tramping 
looking  for  honest  work  until  I  was  ready  to 
drop.  Blair  was  with  me.  We  started  to  cross 
the  street  when  my  foot  slipped  and  I  fell.  A 
carriage  at  that  moment  came  round  the  corner, 
and,  although  driver  and  occupant  saw  my 
plight,  there  was  not  a  movement  or  a  tightening 
of  the  reins.  I  should  have  been  under  the 
horses'  feet  if  Blair's  hand  (which  is  strong 
enough  to  have  broken  the  horse's  neck,  I  be 
lieve)  had  not  grasped  the  bridle  and  swung  the 
beasts  to  one  side  with  a  jolt  that  nearly  threw 
the  driver  from  his  high  seat.  The  driver  raised 
his  whip  as  though  to  strike  at  Blair.  I  made  a 
dive,  not  for  the  driver,  poor  lackey !  but  for  the 
man  in  the  carriage,  who  was  coolly  surveying 
the  proceedings  through  an  eye-glass,  and,  so 
help  me  God !  I  should  have  beaten  his  brains 
out  against  his  own  carriage  doors  if  the  same 
steel-like  grip  which  turned  the  horses'  heads 
had  not  fastened  itself  on  my  coat-collar,  and  I 
was  for  a  moment  as  helpless  as  a  dog  in  his 
hands. 

"There  he  stood,  grim,  dabbled  with  mud,  be 
tween  the  aristocrat  and  the  down-trodden  la 
boring-man,  cool  as  ice,  yet  as  invincible  as  that 
grip  on  my  collar.  The  world  has  need  of  such 
as  he — men  who  know  enough  to  hold  their  tem 
pers — to  stand  between  the  men  in  the  carriages 
and  the  men  in  the  mud.  The  man  in  the  car- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  159 

riage  rode  on,  thankless  and  ignorant  that  he 
owed  his  life  to  that  slim,  white  hand  of  Dennis 
Blair's.  That's  the  way  with  them.  They  feel 
so  secure. 

But,  after  all,  I  should  have  gotten  the  worst 
of  it.  It  would  have  felt  good,  I  can  tell  you,  in 
the  first  hot  moment,  to  see  his  camplacent  mug 
covered  with  his  own  blood.  I  feel  the  desire 
for  it  stir  in  me  yet,  while  I  write.  But  after 
wards — Dennis  Blair  is  right.  It  would  not  only 
have  been  I  who  would  have  suffered  the  punish 
ment,  but  you,  and  father,  and  mother,  and  dear 
old  William  John.  Personal  violence  is  not  the 
way  out,  so  Blair  says,  and  so  I  know,  when  I 
stop  to  think.  The  trouble  is  a  hot-headed  fool 
like  me  never  stops  to  think  until  it  is  too  late." 

Once  Blair  wrote  in  one  of  Paul's  letters :  "I 
shall  be  glad  when  you  come.  We  need  you  for 
anchorage." 

After  awhile  Britomart  received  the  letter  tell 
ing  her  to  come.  "I  have  a  job  at  beggarly 
wages,  but  it  will  do.  My  employer  (you  will 
think  this  is  poetical  justice)  is  the  man  with  the 
eye-glass  who  nearly  ran  me  down  last  month — 
Jeffries,  by  name.  I  can  never  see  his  face  but 
that  old  feeling  of  blood-thirstiness  crops  up  in 
me.  He  does  not  come  often,  thank  fortune! 
He  has  no  need  to  do  even  the  arduous  work  of 
thinking  for  the  concern  himself.  His  part  con 
sists  in  gathering  in  the  sheckels.  I  presume 
the  man  never  did  a  day's  work  in  his  life,  and 
never  will.  And  yet,  to  see  the  airs  he  gives 


160  BRITOMART, 

himself,  you  would  know  in  a  minute  he  thinks 
he  is  made  of  finer  metal  than  the  most  of  the 
people  he  meets.  Long  ago  his  old  grandfather 
bought  a  tract  of  land  where  the  heart  of  Chi 
cago  now  beats  so  fiercely,  and  his  father  estab 
lished  the  manufacturing  plant  where  I  have 
the  happiness  to  be  a  humble  employe. 

"It  was  not  his  grandfather's  brains,  nor  his 
father's  brains,  nor  his  own,  nor  any  especial 
amount  of  industry  on  the  part  of  any  one  of 
them  which  has  placed  him  where  he  is.  It  is 
pure,  unadulterated  luck,  bred  of  our  present 
economic  system.  That  is  why  his  airs  of  supe 
riority  gall  me  and  make  me  long  to  cut  his 
throat.  Blair  laughs  at  me,  and  says  I  would 
put  on  even  more  airs  in  his  place.  (I  know 
better  than  that.)  He  says :  'Don't  waste  your 
breath  railing  at  the  individual  plutocrat ;  strike 
at  the  system.'  But  that's  too  slow  for  me.  I 
want  some  little  individual  revenge.  I  can't 
content  myself  with  thinking  that  my  grand 
children  may  have  the  chance  of  shaking  hands 
in  equality  with  his." 

On  the  twentieth  of  November  Britomart's 
trunk  was  packed  and  stood  on  the  little  porch. 
The  family  were  going  with  her  to  Belleville, 
take  dinner  at  Frank's,  and  see  her  off  on  the  six 
o'clock  train.  It  was  rather  a  solemn  ride  to 
Belleville.  It  was  a  cold,  biting  day.  There 
had  been  but  little  snow,  but  the  hard  frosts  had 
blackened  everything,  and  the  landscape  seemed 
without  hope. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  161 

Farmer  Landor  and  William  John  sat  on  the 
front  seat,  their  hearts  tqo  sore  for  conversa 
tion.  This  was  a  sorry  day  for  the  family,  say 
what  hopeful  things  they  might,  such  as,  Chi 
cago  was  not  so  far  away  from  Belleville,  after 
all,  that  Britomart  would  often  be  at  home,  that 
it  was  best,  and  all  that ;  the  bitter  fact  remained, 
nevertheless,  that  the  morning's  would  come 
without  the.  cheerful  sound  of  her  voice,  that 
the  noon  meals  would  lack  their  wonted  bright 
ness,  and  the  night  home-coming  from  the  fields 
could  not  be  so  full  of  happy  anticipation  with 
Britomart  away. 

Mrs.  Landor  exercised  her  feminine  preroga 
tive  of  crying  openly  and  above-board,  because 
she  felt  like  it,  and  William  John  envied  her. 
He  felt  that  a  good,  blubbering  cry  of  four  or 
five  minutes'  duration,  perhaps  even  less,  would 
ease  that  aching  lump  in  his  throat. 

Britomart  sat  rigid  and  silent.  She  could  not 
have  expressed  her  feelings.  One  moment  a 
great  wave  of  homesickness  would  sweep  over 
her,  and  the  next  she  had  the  sensation  of  being 
a  soldier  going  into  battle,  and  going  to  win. 
She  had  a  foolish,  pleasant  fancy  of  likening  her 
self  to  Napoleon,  although  she  lacked  the  qual 
ities  which  brought  him  success — namely,  utter 
heartlessness  and  supreme  selfishness ;  but  his 
fine  health,  his  powers  of  endurance  she  had.  His 
tireless,  watchful  energy,  his  genius  for  hard 
work,  she  determined  to  acquire  if  she  had  them 


162  BRITOMART, 

not.  When  homesickness  or  laziness  attacked 
her  she  should  think  of  the  Little  Corporal. 

It  took  all  the  bolsterings  the  recollections  of 
that  redoubtable  warrior  could  supply  to  keep 
the  tears  back,  however,  as  the  train  began  to 
move.  There  they  all  were,  those  whose  loving 
faces  had  been  her  joy  every  day  of  her  life,  and 
which  she  must  learn  to  do  without,  for  many 
days  at  least,  and  in  all  probability  the  greater 
part  of  the  remainder  of  her  life.  The  last  face 
her  eyes  rested  upon  was  that  of  Bumpy,  red  and 
wrinkled  by  an  expression  of  supreme  surprise 
and  dismay  at  the  daring  of  the  November  wind, 
which  tried,  at  one  fell  swoop,  to  take  away  his 
breath  as  his  mother  uncovered  his  face  to  the 
farewell  gaze  of  his  aunt. 

When  the  last  house  of  Belleville  slid  out  of 
sight,  Britomart  settled  back  and  sobbed  aloud, 
despite  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Lawyer  Hamleton  oc 
cupied  the  third  seat  back,  and  was  in  the  habit 
of  slipping  down  to  Chicago  and  returning  in 
a  day  or  two  without  a  thought  of  farewell  tears. 
Presumably,  she  considered  Britomart's  distress 
very  childish,  especially  as  she  was  a  tall  girl. 
If  she  had  been  small  and  blonde,  those  tears 
might  have  been  excused. 

"A  pretty  Napoleon  I  am,"  muttered  Brito 
mart.  "I  wonder  what  the  army  of  Italy  would 
have  thought  to  have  seen  the  great  conqueror 
starting  out  for  conquest  with  a  red  nose  and 
eyes  swelled  half  shut  from  crying?" 

Then  she  sat  up  very  straight,  and  tried  to 


THE  SOCIALIST.  183 

forget  how  lonely  poor  William  John  would  be 
after  tea,  during  the  time  he  usually  spent  telling 
her  his  innocent  plans,  or  reading  history  aloud 
while  she  did  the  mending,  and  their  father  and 
mother  dozed  off,  too  tired  to  assimilate  what 
was  being  read ;  for,  much  to  Britomart's  aston 
ishment  and  delight,  William  John  had  fallen  in 
with  her  conceit  of  Miss  Gridly  of  Orion,  and 
strictly  maintained  his  allegiance  to  that  mythical 
person,  giving  Tilly  to  understand  that,  on  Miss 
Gridly's  account,  her  blandishments  must  be  for 
ever  in  vain;  and  Tilly,in  despair,  turned  to  an 
other  hired  man,  this  time  minus  the  double 
team.  Britomart  had  a  sodden  fear  that  in  her 
absence  Tilly  might  renew  her  attentions  with 
better  success ;  but,  however  much  that  troubled 
her,  the  hand  of  Destiny  pointed  her  in  another 
direction. 

And  in  this  manner  Britomart  left  the  first 
epoch  of  her  life  -behind  her  and  went  down  co 
Chicago  to  begin  the  second,  there  to  meet  her 
share  of  trials,  rebuffs  and  disillusions. 

Paul  rented  rooms  in  the  rear  of  a  drayman's 
house  on  Wells  Street.  A  large,  dark  room 
which  served  for  kitchen  and  dining  room,  a 
smaller  room,  scarcely  less  dark,  serving  as  the 
living  room,  and  containing  Britomart's  rented 
piano ;  two  bedrooms  and  a  tiny  pantry  com 
pleted  the  suite.  Here  Britomart  worked  and 
studied  for  two  years,  during  which  time  she 
never  once  saw  the  kindly  light  in  her  mother's 
eyes,  nor  heard  the  music  of  her  father's  laugh. 


164  BRITOMART, 

Sometimes  her  anxieties  nearly  overwhelmed 
her — would  have  done  so  quite,  had  it  not  been 
for  Dennis  Blair ;  and  she  always  insisted  that 
during  that  dark  time  it  was  Blair's  hand,  not 
hers,  which  held  Paul  back  from  despair  and 
ruin.  For,  oh,  the  injustice  of  it  all ! — the  hope 
lessness  which  there  is  no  use  to  describe  in  de 
tail.  We  working  people  know  it  from  bitter 
experience,  and  the  more  favored  classes  have 
heard  it  told  so  many  times  that  they  have  be 
come  hardened  to  its  repetition.  They  bow  and 
smile,  throw  a  dime  or  a  dollar  to  charity  now 
and  then  ,and  say,  "We  know,  poor  people,  you 
suffer;  but  be  patient.  God's  will  be  done  !"  and 
pass  on  to  their  fetes,  their  junketings,  their  pol 
itics  and  their  society. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Meanwhile  Britomart  was  becoming  an  artist 
in  her  profession.  She  was  self-supporting,  hav 
ing  secured  a  few  scholars.  She  even  owned  a 
neat  black  silk  dress,  which  was  a  necessity,  as 
Professor  Seebright  was  in  the  habit  of  making 
her  a  conspicuous  figure  at  his  recitals,  and  black 
silk  is  more  enduring  and  unnoticeable  as  a  reg 
ular  costume  than  the  lighter  fabrics.  It  needed 
few  adornments  to  make  Britomart  Landor  no 
ticeable  in  any  assembly.  Her  fine  height,  su 
perb  health  and  unconscious  manner  marked  her 
as  a  beauty  on  the  streets  of  Chicago,  Belleville's 
decision  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

One  night  she  came  swinging  home  in  a  quick, 
easy  walk  which  was  one  of  her  charms,  carrying 
music  roll  and  book,  an  excited  flush  on  her  face, 
aided  and  abetted  by  a  sharp  wind  which  buf- 
eted  her  at  every  corner.  She  had  news  for  Paul 
which  would  astonish  him.  She  hurried  through 
the  long,  dark  alley  between  two  towering  brick 
walls,  which  led  to  the  door  of  her  home. 

It  was  unusually  late — half-past  six,  and  Paul 
was  home,  as  she  discovered  on  coming  abreast 
the  alley  window  and  seeing  a  light.  He  had 
lit  the  fire  and  the  kettle  was  singing  merrily  on 
the  stove. 

"Well,"  cried  Britomart,  putting  her  music 
roll,  coat  and  hat  all  on  the  piano  stool.  "What 


166  BRITOMART, 

do  you  think,  Paul  ?  I'm  to  beard  the  lion  in  his 
den.  I'm  to  have  a  pupil  among  the  grandees, 
and  whom  do  you  think !  The  young  cousin  of 
your  arch  temper-destroyer,  Theodore  Jeffries  !" 

Paul  was  in  bad  humor.  Things  had  gone 
wrong  and  a  cut  in  wages  had  been  declared. 

"Don't  you  take  a  bit  of  abuse  in  that  house, 
Britomart.  It's  bad  enough  for  me  to  have  to 
stand  their  trampling." 

Britomart  laughed.  "I  suspect  that's  how  I 
came  to  be  invited  to  undertake  the  task.  She 
is  one  of  Seebright's  pupils  and,  he  says,  alto 
gether  impossible." 

"One  of  the  silver-spoon  kind  who  wants  to 
be  educated  without  studying.  Don't  you  ac 
cept,  Britomart." 

"Oh,  but  I  shall.  Seebright  says  it  will  be  a 
good  thing  for  me  pecuniarily — if  I  can  endure 
it.  He  says  he  could  not.  It  appears  that  Mrs. 
Jeffries,  your  Mrs.  Jeffries'  mother,  has  great 
musical  ambitions  as  a  vocalist — in  fact,  is  con 
sidered  a  very  beautiful  singer,  and  she  is  ex 
tremely  anxious  that  this  niece  should  accom 
pany  her  with  taste  upon  the  piano.  But  the 
niece  is  not  fond  of  music  and  has  become  such 
a  trial  to  Seebright  that  he  has  determined,  in 
sheer  desperation,  to  turn  her  over  to  me.  She 
is  to  marry  Mr.  Theodore  Jeffries,  so  Mr.  See- 
bright  tells  me." 

"You  are  a  fool,  Britomart,  to  undertake  any 
of  Seebright's  dirty  jobs.  You  have  trouble 


THE  SOCIALIST.  167 

enough  without  tackling  the  Jeffries  or  their 
kind." 

"Oh,  but  you  know,  Paul,  it  is  the  Jeffries  and 
their  kind  who  need  instruction  for  their  chil 
dren,  and  who  can  afford  to  pay  for  it.  Now 
that  I  am  making  a  success  of  myself  musically, 
I  want  a  chance  to  show  off." 

When  Britomart  had  finished  getting  supper 
and  had  taken  her  place  behind  the  little  tin  tea 
pot,  Paul  produced  a  letter  from  home. 

"It  was  sticking  in  the  door,"  he  said,  and,  in 
his  discouraged  tone,  Britomart  had  the  key  to 
his  depression  of  spirits. 

"No  bad  news,  Paul?" 

"Oh,  nothing  new.  Father  has  been  obliged 
to  take  up  more  money  to  pay  for  the  west  fence 
and  the  thrashing,  and  Frank  is  getting  in  debt 
deeper  and  deeper  all  the  time.  What  is  going 
to  become  of  us  is  more  than  I  know." 

It  was  rather  a  gloomy  tea,  and  Britomart  was 
relieved  when  a  familiar  step  sounded  outside 
the  door  and  Blair  came  in.  .Being  a  busy  man, 
he  was  not  a  frequent  visitor,  but  he  brought 
sunshine  when  he  came,  and  Britomart  felt  that 
they  were  in  need  of  sunshine. 

"Doing!"  answered  Paul  to  Blair's  question, 
"about  as  bad  as  we  can.  Letter  from  home. 
Everybody  a  few  months  nearer  the  poor  house. 
Father  fretting  himself  to  death,  and,  to  cap  the 
climax,  our  wages  were  cut  in  the  shops  again 
today.  Blair,  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  I'm 
going  to  quit  pretty  soon." 


168  BRITOMART, 

"Oh,  it  isn't  so  bad,"  Britomart  interposed,  a 
little  ashamed  of  this  bag  of  calamities  which 
Paul  was  emptying  on  Blair's  devoted  head  ttit 
moment  it  showed  itself  in  their  door.  "No,  it 
isn't  all  bad.  I  have  a  new  music  scholar — Miss 
Barlow,  Mr.  Jeffries'  cousin  and  fiancee." 

"That's  the  worst  of  it  all !"  growled  Paul.  "I 
tell  her  it  is  bad  enough  that  that  damned  brute 
should  lord  it  over  me.  without  her  coming  un 
der  their  thumbs.  Britomart,  if  you  dare  take 
any  abuse  from  them,  I'll  turn  you  out  of  doors  !" 

He  was  walking  the  floor  excitedly.  Brito 
mart  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"You'll  be  cutting  your  nose  off,  young  man. 
If  this  strike  comes  on,  which  you  say  is  un 
avoidable,  you'll  have  to  let  me  support  you 
until  you  find  work." 

"Why,  yes,  Paul,  this  may  be  the  means  of 
introducing  Miss  Landor  into  the  very  atmos 
phere  which  she  needs — where  money  is  so 
plenty  it  is  in  the  air,  you  know ;  she  may  absorb 
it  in  breathing,"  joked  Blair. 

Between  them  they  talked  and  laughed  Paul 
out  of  his  savage  mood. 

Nevertheless,  when  Britomart  presented  her 
self  before  the  elegant  residence  of  the  Jeffries 
to  make  her  first  struggle  with  the  impossible 
scholar,  she  was  not  in  a  particularly  patient 
frame  of  mind.  She  had  been  alone  in  her  dingy 
rooms  all  the  forenoon,  doing  the  drudgery  nec 
essary  to  keep  her  little  home  tidy,  and  her 
fingers  felt  stiff  and  unfitted  for  their  task.  The 


THE  SOCIALIST.  169 

melancholy  home  letter  and  Paul's  pending  trou 
bles  weighed  upon  her. 

So  this  was  the  home  of  the  millionaire  who 
had  cut  the  wages  in  Paul's  sEop  yesterday  ?  A 
man-servant  opened  the  door  and  ushered  her 
into  a  hall  which  was  a  revelation  to  Britomart, 
so  rich,  so  wide,  so  warm.  Its  very  luxurious- 
ness  angered  her.  Why  not  a  little  less  grandeur 
and  poor  Paul  allowed  wages  enough  for  his 
support ! 

The  servant  came  back  soon  and  showed  her 
into  the  library.  Miss  Barlow  was  not  at  lib 
erty  just  at  present  to  receive  her.  Britomart 
settled  herself  to  wait  and  examine  with  a  jealous 
eye  this  further  accumulation  of  riches  and  lux 
ury.  She  refused  the  billowy  comfort  a  great 
armchair  offered,  and  sat  rigidly  awaiting  her 
pupil  in  one  of  the  less  comfortable  ones  by  the 
window.  There  was  no  sound  save  the  crack 
ling  of  the  fire  in  the  grate. 

This  keeping  her  waiting  was  an  insolence  in 
itself,  the  insolence  of  power  against  her  weak 
ness — of  wealth  agains-t  poverty.  In  effect  these 
plutocrats  said  to  her,  "Lie  down,  you  dog,  and 
await  our  call !"  The  thought  of  Paul's  impo 
tent  anger  came  to  Britomart  with  added  mean 
ing,  and  a  picture  of  the  ones  at  home—father, 
mother  and  the  boys,  slaving,  straining,  but  un- 
successfuly  dropping  gradually  behind  in  the 
race,  while  this  man 

Suddenly  the  great,  thick  curtain  lifted  and  the 
man  himself  was  before  her.  Britomart  knew 


170  BRITOMART, 

him  immediately  from  Paul's  description.  He 
was  a  handsome  man  in  face  and  figure.  Yet 
his  good  looks  were  marred,  entirely  effaced, 
in  the  eyes  of  some,  by  his  manner,  which  was 
one  of  superciliousness  and  conscious  superior 
ity.  Through  his  gold-rimmed  glasses  his  half- 
closed  eyes  viewed  a  world  forever  at  his  feet 
because  of  his  wealth.  There  was  great  excuse 
for  him.  Even  those  whose  faces  were  ground 
by  the  system  which  made  this  man  their  mas 
ter,  looked  upon  him  with  admiration. 

Britomart  rose  as  he  entered,  and  the  blue 
eyes  met  the  narrow  gray  ones  in  natural  antag 
onism. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Are  you  waiting  for 
some  one?" 

"Yes,  I  have  been  waiting  nearly  an  hour  for 
Miss  Barlow.  I  am  to  give  her  a  lesson  on  the 
piano." 

"Oh,  certainly." 

He  was  going. 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  the  young 
lady  that  I  shall  wait  no  longer?" 

Theodore  Jeffries  turned  and  eyed  the  girl 
coolly. 

"It  may  be  worth  your  while  to  wait,"  he  said. 

The  'tone  was  perfectly  respectful,  but  the 
words  so  plainly  indicated  her  servitude  of  pov 
erty  and  his  mastership  of  money,  that,  despite 
Blair's  long  teaching  against  hatred  for  the  in 
dividual,  Britomart,  like  Paul,  felt  that  this  man's 
debasement  and  humiliation  was  all  that  could 


THE  SOCIALIST.  171 

satisfy  her.  He  was  plutocracy  personified.  It 
was  as  though  the  Roman  emperor's  wish  had 
come  true  in  her  case,  that  the  necks  of  all  his 
kind  had  become  as  one,  and  she  longed  for  the 
power  to  smite  it.  It  was  not  a  Christian  idea, 
it  was  far  from  a  Socialistic  idea,  but,  such  as  if 
was,  it  was  Britomart's  at  that  moment. 

"No,"  she  answered,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  "I 
shall  wait  no  longer.  I  have  business  of  more 
importance" ;  and  then,  quick  as  thought,  she 
added,  "I  am  due  to  read  a- paper  on  the  subject 
of  strikes  before  a  meeting  of  Socialists  this  af 
ternoon." 

It  was  a  fabrication  from  the  ground  up,  but 
she  had  been  hurt  and  blindly  retaliated  with  the 
first  poor  weapon  at  her  hand,  and  if  she  had  had 
the  choice  of  the  armory  of  the  world  she  could 
not  have  pierced  this  millionaire  manufacturer 
more  effectually.  His  face  flashed  red.  Anger 
fairly  scintillated  from  his  narrow  eyes. 

"Indeed !  I  might  give  you  a  little  sound  ad 
vice  if  it  were  worth  the  trouble,  but  I  do  not 
think  I  shall.  However,  we  will  not  detain  you 
from  your  mission  of  peace.  I  beg  to  assure 
you  that  Miss  Barlow  will  not  need  your  serv 
ices." 

But  he  was  reckoning  without  his  host.  Miss 
Barlow  had  arrived  some  two  minutes  before, 
pushing  the  great  curtain  aside  noiselessly,  and 
chancing  upon  what  she  considered  a  rich  scene  ; 
this  haughty,  handsome  young  woman  facing 
Cousin  Theodore  and  talking  of  strikes — work- 


172  BRITOMART, 

ingmen's  strikes ;  the  one  theme  in  all  the  world 
capable  of  rousing  his  fury,  as  well  it  might,  they 
being  the  only  stones  in  his  smooth  road  of 
power. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Cousin  Theodore,  but  I 
believe  this  young  lady's  business  is  with  me,  is 
it  not?  Or  were  you  contemplating  brushing 
up  a  bit  in  your  music?" 

The  sentence  was  spoken  in  a  slow,  smooth 
voice,  with  a  peculiar  drawl,  and  ended  with  a 
laugh,  musical  but  tantalizing. 

Britomart  turned,  and  beheld  in  Miss  Barlow 
a  young  lady  of,  perhaps,  twenty,  but  looking 
very  childish  in  a  white  wrapper,  with  a  torrent 
of  black  curls  tumbling  about  her  head,  as 
though  she  had  but  just  risen  from  a  nap.  Her 
face  was  too  narrow  by  far  for  beauty,  and  it 
was  dominated  by  a  sleepy  pair  of  black  eyes, 
which  she  never  took  the  trouble  to  open  to  their 
fullest  extent,  except  upon  unusual  occasions. 
Her  lips  were  red — very  red,  and  too  full  to  be 
in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  her  face,  had  it  not 
been  for  a  strong,  firmly  shaped  and  prominent 
nose,  which  reconciled  one  to  the  voluptuous 
mouth. 

"This  young  woman  has  pressing  duties,  and 
I  have  excused  her,  Clarissa.  She  says  she  has 
been  waiting  an  hour." 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Miss " 

Britomart  had  sent  her  card,  but  evidently 
Miss  Barlow  had  not  troubled  to  remember  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  173 

name  upon  it,  and  Britomart  ignored  the  intima 
tion  that  she  was  to  introduce  herself  again. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  but  I  was  taking  a  little  rest, 
and  I  have  told  Justine  that  upon  no  account  is 
she  to  waken  me  when  I  am  sleeping.  I  had 
entirely  forgotten  the  lesson.  You  will  pardon 
me  ?  Good-bye,  Cousin  Theodore.  We  will  go 
to  the  music  room,  and  if  a  lesson  cannot  be 
arranged  today,  we  will  make  an  appointment 
for  it  at  some  future  time  this  week.  I  am  very 
anxious  to  begin,"  and  with  a  touch  which  was 
velvet-like,  yet  compelling,  Miss  Barlow  led 
Britomart  to  the  music  room. 

As  Britomart's  eyes  glanced  quickly  about 
this  apartment  she  felt  her  presumption  in  com 
ing  into  such  a  home  as  instructor.  Surely  the 
women  of  this  household  were  past-mistresses  of 
the  art  of  music.  There  was  a  grand  piano  and 
a  pipe  organ.  There  were  guitars  in  dark,  old 
Spanish  wood,  with  intricate  inlaid  work  on 
necks  and  about  rosettes.  There  were  mando 
lins  strung  picturesquely  on  the  walls ;  and  at 
the  first  glimpse,  Britomart  counted  four  vio 
lins.  The  room  was  dark  and  lofty,  the  only 
light  coming  from  a  high  stained  glass  window. 
The  floor  was  bare  and  polished,  and  excepting 
one  wide  divan  against  the  wall,  piled  with  many 
cushions,  there  was  no  furniture  to  deaden  the 
sound  of  instruments. 

It  seemed  as  though  something  of  her  visitor's 
thought  was  apparent  to  Miss  Barlow. 

"Sit  down  a  minute.    I  won't  detain  you  very 


174  BR1TOMART, 

long,  but  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you  alone. 
This,"  and  she  waved  her  hand  to  indicate  the 
room,  "is  all  affectation.  We  are  none  of  us 
musicians.  Aunt  Inez  sings  well,  and  plays  in 
differently  on  the  piano  and  guitar.  She  wishes 
me  to  be  able  to  accompany  her  upon  the  piano 
when  she  sings ;  but  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  despise 
it!" 

"Then  I  advise  you  to  abandon  the  idea  of 
studying.  One  must  put  more  or  less  heart  into 
music  if  one  wishes  to  master  any  part  of  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  decided  to  try  very  hard ; 
and  before  we  leave  the  subject,  let  us  arrange 
for  our  first  lesson.  When  can  you  come 
again  ?" 

"I  can  give  you  a  lesson  this  afternoon.  I 
came  for  that  purpose." 

"But  your  engagement  at  the  Socialist  club? 
Don't  tell  me  that  was  a  fib  to  aggravate  Cousin 
Theodore !" 

Britomart's  lip  curled  in  a  smile. 

"Because,"  continued  Miss  Barlow,  "it  was 
that  which  made  me  wish  to  know  you." 

Britomart  was  very  much  ashamed  of  herself 
and  arose  to  go.  Miss  Barlow  pulled  her  down 
upon  the  divan  again. 

"Don't  go  yet.  Just  a  few  minutes,  please. 
Then  you  are  not  a  Socialist?" 

"What  I  told  your  cousin  was  not  true — that 
I  was  to  read  a  paper  at  a  meeting  of  Socialists." 

"And  you  never  attended  such  a  meeting?" 


THE  SOCIALIST.  175 

"Many  of  them,  and  I  am  a  Socialist.  Why 
should  I  not  be?" 

Miss  Barlow  sat  regarding  her  with  those  vel 
vety  black  eyes  of  hers.  "I  shall  take  lessons  of 
you,"  she  said  at  last;  "and  I  shall  make  such 
progress  that  Aunt  Inez  will  be  astonished.  Can 
you  come  tomorrow  to  make  a  beginning  ?" 

"We  can  make  a  beginning  today,  if  you  are 
determined  to  do  so  with  me  for  a  teacher.  I 
advise  you  to  begin  now.  I  may  not  be  admitted 
to  the  house  tomorrow,"  and  Britomart  smiled. 

"Cousin  Theodore  would  hardly  go  that  far," 
said  Clarissa;  "but  he  hates  you — I  could  see 
that." 

Miss  Barlow's  full,  red  lips  were  widened  in  a 
smile.  Her  hands  lay  .idly  in  her  lap,  palms  up 
ward,  and  Britomart  noted  how  round  and  firm 
the  little  white  wrists  were,  and  how  rosy  the 
palms  and  finger  tips.  She  wondered  why  the 
fact  of  the  gentleman's  hatred  for  herself  should 
be  a  matter  of  gratification  to  his  cousin.  If 
she  had  been  the  least  bit  conceited  she  might 
have  credited  it  to  jealousy  on  the  part  of  Miss 
Barlow,  as  she  remembered  that  Professor  See- 
bright  had  told  her  this  young  woman  was  to 
marry  her  cousin.  Before  Britomart  left  she  had 
promised  to  come  the  following  day  at  two 
o'clock. 

In  answer  to  Paul's  jealous  inquiries  in  regard 
to  her  treatment  at  the  millionaire's  house 
Britomart  was  very  noncommittal.  She  said  she 
met  with  very  much  the  reception  she  had  ex 
pected,  and  Paul  advised  her  not  to  go  near 


176  BR1TOMART, 

the  place  again ;  but  the  following  day  found 
her  on  the  Jeffries'  steps,  wondering  how  she 
would  be  received  this  time,  and  trembling  a 
little  in  spite  of  herself.  She  hoped  to  be  shown 
at  once  to  the  music  room,  there  to  await  Miss 
Barlow.  She  determined  to  wait  in  patience  if 
it  obliged  her  to  take  the  last  car  home  at 
night.  To  her  discomfort  she  was  again  shown 
into  the  library,  which  seemed  to  be  quite  full 
of  people. 

Mr.  Jeffries  and  Clarissa  were  standing  \vith 
a  young  lady,  who,  to  Britomart's  bewildered 
eyes,  seemed  a  most  beautiful  creature.;  she  was 
so  fragile,  so  pink-and-white,  with  a  profusion 
of  golden  hair  and  great,  pansy-colored  eyes. 
She  turned  an  unsmiling  face  of  curiosity  upon 
Britomart  as  she  entered.  She  was  a  charming- 
contrast  to  Clarissa  Barlow,  with  her  unruly 
braids  of  black  hair  and  languorous,  velvety 
eyes.  Britomart  wondered  that  in  the  confusion 
consequent  upon  her  introduction  into  a  room 
ful  of  strangers,  she  should  note  that  this  con 
trast  was  to  the  blonde's  disadvantage.  It 
seemed  to  fade  her  delicate  tints. 

Clarissa  came  forward  at  once  and  greeted 
Britomart  with  a  profusion  which  astonished 
that  young  woman. 

"Miss  French,  let  me  present  Miss  Landor. 
Miss  Landor  has  kindly  consented  to  initiate  me 
into  the  mysteries  of  piano  music.  Can't  you 
find  it  in  your  heart  to  pity  her?  You  remem 
ber  that  duet,  one  part  of  which  you  undertook 


THE  SOCIALIST.  177 

to  teach  me.  But,  I  assure  you,  Cousin  Theo 
dore,  I  mean  to  make  a  great  effort.  You  and 
Aunt  Inez  shall  be  astonished.  Aunt  Inez,  this 
is  Miss  Landor,  who  knows  more  about  music 
than  all  of  us  put  together." 

A  lady  rose  from  beside  a  little  table  where 
she  had  been  serving  tea,  and  coldly  gave  her 
hand  to  Miss  Landor.  Her  eyes,  black  as  Clar 
issa's  own,  were  of  an  entirely  different  expres 
sion.  They  might  have  been  described  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way  as  "snapping."  Her  complexion 
was  still  good,  although  again  entirely  different 
from  her  niece's,  in  that  it  was  highly  colored. 
Her  mouth  was  wide,  thin,  and,  Britomart  de 
cided,  cruel.  She  was  dressed  like  a  girl  of  six 
teen,  and  a  discerning  person  could  read  at  a 
glance  that,  in  her,  youth  would  die  hard. 

There  were  two  gentlemen  near  her  drinking 
tea,  and  Clarissa  introduced  them  as  Lord  Kil- 
dare  and  Mr.  Hawkins.  Britomart  could  not 
have  guessed  their  ages  within  twenty  years. 
Both  seemed  to  belong  to  the  class  of  old-young 
men  to  be  met  with  so  often  in  society,  a  class 
of  which  Britomart,  with  her  limited  exper/ence, 
was  entirely  ignorant;  men  to  whom  existing 
conditions,  like  a  too  indulgent  mother,  had 
given  such  a  large  piece  of  the  pie  of  the  world 
that  it  had  nauseated  them  and  destroyed  an  ap 
petite  which  should  still  have  been  keen.  Brito- 
mart's  glance  rested  but  an  instant  on  the  scion 
of  English  nobility,  but  in  that  instant  her  coun 
trified,  American  mind  experienced  the  wonder 


178  BRITOMART, 

invariably  present  in  all  American  minds  under 
similar  circumstances,  that  a  long  descent  of  blue 
blood  should  culminate  in  anything  so  ugly. 
The  bony,  cadaverous  face,  neither  young  nor 
old,  the  broom-like  moustache  and  prominent 
ears  might  well  have  been  the  heritage  of  fif 
teen  generations  of  hod-carriers.  In  comparison 
with  the  wellrbuilt,  supercilious  Theodore  Jef 
fries,  my  lord  was  but  an  indifferent  figure  of 
a  man.  Britomart  resented  the  hawk-like  glance 
of  his  eyes,  which  seemed  to  consider  her  from 
a  purely  physical  standpoint.  The  glances  of 
the  old  Chicago  roue,  Chauncey  Hawkins,  were 
no  cleaner,  perhaps,  but  at  least  he  had  the 
grace  to  veil  them  with  a  show  of  respect  in  the 
presence  of  American  womanhood,  which,  even 
in  poverty,  in  this  country,  commands  it. 

A  woman  with  white  hair,  a  rich  gown  and  a 
disagreeable  face,  came  in,  and  Clarissa  presented 
Britomart  to  her  Grandmamma  Enderby.  Then 
they  drank  a  cup  of  tea,  and,  Clarissa  excusing 
herself  to  her  aunt's  guests,  the  two  young 
women  repaired  to  the  music  room,  where  the 
first  lesson  was  soon  in  progress. 

Britomart  found  her  pupil  fully  up  to  Pro 
fessor  Seebright's  description — impossible. 

"You  see,  it  is  quite  as  bad  as  you  have  been 
told,  Miss  Landor,"  Clarissa  said,  with  a  smile 
of  satisfaction,  when  they  were  through. 

Britomart  made  no  reply. 

"But,"  continued  Clarissa,  "I  can  learn  if  I 


THE  SOCIALIST.  179 

try ;  and  to  prove  it  to  you,  I'll  have  this  lesson 
when  you  come  Saturday." 

"That  is  too  much  to  ask.  It  is  too  hard  a 
lesson  to  get  in  so  short  a  time.  It  would  re 
quire  constant  practice." 

"Very  well,  I  will  give  it  all  my  time.  I  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  there  is  need  of  great 
haste  in  this  matter." 

The  sleepy,  velvety  eyes  were  fastened  on 
Britomart  with  a  whimsical  expression.  "I  am 
well  along  in  years  and  there  is  need  that  my 
accomplishments  be  perfected  soon." 

Britomart  hardly  knew  whether  to  hate  or  like 
this  girl.  She  felt  like  hating  her  when  she  re 
membered  how  she  had  forced  her  music  teacher 
down  the  throats  of  her  aunt's  guests,  and  liking 
her  when  she  remembered  that,  through  her  tact, 
the  music  teacher  had  not  suffered  from  the  per 
formance.  She  turned  all  these  things  over  in 
her  mind  during  her  walk  home.  She  had  had  a 
glimpse  of  fine  society  and  meant  to  recount  it 
to  Paul  for  his  amusement  during  supper.  She 
had  seen  a  live  English  lord,  and  her  belief  that 
the  nobility  was  a  poor  lot  was  not  modified  by 
the  encounter. 

She  met  Dennis  Blair  on  her  way  home.  He 
had  been  to  see  Paul,  he  told  her.  The  strike 
in  the  shops  was  on,  and  for  a  time  Paul  would 
be  idle.  "But  don't  worry,"  he  added ;  "I  have 
managed  to  get  him  a  little  work  in  the  office, 
so  you  will  be  provided  for." 


180  BRITOMART, 

"And  I  am  keeping  my  pupils,"  Britomart  said 
with  a  brave  heart. 

"Would  God  I  might  ease  things  up  a  bit  for 
some  of  the  other  poor  fellows  and  their  fam 
ilies." 

Britomart  bade  him  good-night,  and  hastened 
home  to  find  Paul  in  a  better  humor  than  she 
had  expected. 

"It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  them 
pour  out,  Bee.  Jeffries  knew  nothing  of  it  when 
I  came  away.  His  old  wheels  will  stand  idle  for 
one  while,  I'm  thinking." 

He  gave  an  account  of  the  going  out, 
dwelling  with  especial  pleasure  on  an  incident 
which  happened  soon  after  dinner.  There  had 
been  an  objectionable  foreman  placed  over 
their  shop  during  the  last  week.  He  was  a 
Swede  who  could  hardly  speak  English,  and  suc 
ceeded  a  man,  capable,  honest  and  just  alike  to 
employer  and  laborer.  The  men  were  working 
on  piece  work,  however,  and  the  American  had 
not  the  slave-driving  qualities  requisite  to 
squeeze  all  the  company  believed  might  be 
squeezed  out  of  that  particular  room  for  a  given 
amount  of  wages ;  consequently,  the  Swede  was 
put  in  his  place.  Before  going  out,  the  boys  had 
tied  a  rope  around  the  Swede's  neck  and  dragged 
him  back  and  forth  until  the  life  was  nearly 
beaten  out  of  him. 

"And  did  you  have  hold  of  the  rope,  Paul  ?" 

Paul  hesitated  a  minute  and  then  frankly  ad 
mitted  that  he  did.  "I  tell  you,  Britomart,  my 


THE  SOCIALIST.  181 

fingers  fairly  itched  to  give  the  dirty  sneak  a 
twist,  but  I  beg  of  you  don't  tell  Blair ;  he  would 
disapprove  and,  Britomart,  he  is  mighty  good 
to  us.  I  should  not  like  to  seem  ungrateful. 
And  now  where  have  you  been  and  what  have 
you  seen  today?" 

"I  have  seen,"  said  Britomart,  "three  great 
men;  one  is  great  because  he  is  titled,  one  is 
great  because  he  is  rich,  and  one  is  great  because 
he  cares  for  others  before  himself — can  feel  for 
others'  woes.  In  short,  he  is  great  because  he 
is  great." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Britomart  was  shown  into  the  music  room 
at  once  on  Saturday  and  found  Clarissa  curled 
up  among  the  cushions  on  the  luxurious  divan, 
looking  like  the  favorite  of  some  Eastern  prince 
with  her  clinging,  inky  locks  and  her  long,  vel 
vety  eyes.  Her  dress  was  calculated  to  add  to 
this  illusion,  being  a  neglige  affair,  dropping 
from  her  rounded  shoulders  and  disclosing  her 
arms  in  astonishing  glimpses  the  whole  of  their 
graceful  length.  The  material  of  which  the  dress 
was  made  had  a  greenish  gold  background,  upon 
which  innumerable  brilliant  dragon-flies  glit 
tered,  enmeshed  in  a  silver  warp. 

Britomart  began  by  hating  Miss  Barlow  be 
cause  she  had  evidently  donned  this  gown  to 
bewilder  an  unsophisticated  country  girl,  not 
used  to  such  extravagant  fashions,  but  was  ob 
liged  to  like  her  for  the  alacrity  with  which  she 
took  her  place  at  the  piano  and  executed  the 
rather  difficult  first  lesson  without  a  break. 

After  the  new  lesson  had  been  given  Clarissa 
reeled  off  from  the  music  stool  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"Thank  Heaven,  that's  over !"  she  said.  "And 
I  am  an  exemplary  pupil,  am  I  not,  Miss  Lan- 
dor?" 

Britomart  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  was 
delighted. 

"And  a  little  bit  astonished,  isn't  it  so?" 


THE  SOCIALIST.  183 

Britomart  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Oh," 
she  answered,  "I  knew  it  was  rather  from  lazi 
ness  than  lack  of  ability  that  you  failed." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  it  wasn't.  If  I  had 
ability  there  would  be,  as  Mark  Tapley  has  it, 
no  credit  in  the  affair.  It  is  the  fact  that  I 
totally  lack  musical  ability,  coupled  with  that  of 
my  mastering  the  lesson,  which  should  bring  me 
credit.  I  hate  it  and  always  shall !" 

"You  incur  the  labor  then  for  the  sake  of 
pleasing  some  one  else?" 

"Yes." 

"That,  after  all,  is  a  worthy  motive." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  so." 

"But  you  never  would  guess  the  name  of  the 
person  whom  I  study  to  please." 

"Your  aunt?" 

"No." 

"Your  cousin,  Mr.  Jeffries?" 

"No !  May  heaven  strike  me  dead  if  ever  I 
do  anything  to  please  that  man  !" 

Britomart  was  shocked  and  showed  it  in  her 
face. 

"Come,  sit  down  and  talk  to  me  a  bit.  I  long 
for  a  confidant.  I  never  had  but  one  in  the 
world,  and  that  one,  old  Betty  Barlow  by  name, 
is  not  always  reliable.  The  moment  I  saw  your 
face  I  thought,  'I  wish  that  girl  were  my  sister, 
or  some  one  under  obligations  to  listen  to  me. 
You  are  so  big,  you  know,  and — pardon  me — so 
beautiful !" 


184  BRITOMART, 

Britomart  made  a  scornful  gesture  of  dissent. 

"When  you  know  me  better,  you  will  appreci 
ate  that  compliment,  because  you  will  know  that 
I  never  flatter.  I  am" — and  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  slightly — "too  much  given  to  the  other 
thing.  Yes,  when  I  first  saw  you  I  liked  you,  and 
when  I  discovered  you  standing  up  to  Cousin 
Theodore  with  your  gloves  on,  so  to  speak,  and 
realized  that  you  had  just  'placed  one  in  the  neck' 
— that  is  a  quotation  from  Chauncy  Hawkins, 
who  is  very  well  informed  in  matters  of  the  ring 
— I  say,  when  I  saw  that,  I  loved  you !" 

"Why  are  you  so  bitter  against  your  cousin?" 

"I  am  not  bitter  against  him.  On  the  con 
trary,  I  believe  there  are  some  good  traits  in 
him  which  have  never  been  allowed  to  show 
themselves.  But  I  oppose  him  on  principle,  be 
cause  everybody  else  humors  him;  Aunt  Inez 
and  Grandma  Enderby  because  he  is  a  man ;  so 
ciety  and  the  world  because  he  is  a  rich  man. 
No  one  in  all  his  life  has  dared  to  do  anything 
that  is  contrary  to  his  will,  except  your  hurnble 
servant,  and  I  have  had  my  hands  full  with  my 
contract.  I  am  having  a  little  respite  this  week 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  on  account  of  the 
strike.  Cousin  Theodore's  men  are  out  on  a 
strike,  and  he  is  raging  like  a  hungry  lion  in  con 
sequence.  Of  course,  they  will  have  to  succumb, 
sooner  or  later — there  is  no  doubt  of  it — and  it 
will  not  damage  Theodore's  bank  account  to  any 
great  extent,  but  he  is  so  angry  to  think  the 
men  dare  do  such  a  thing.  No,  I  had  no  inten- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  185 

tion  of  again  beginning  the  study  of  music  when 
I  came  down  to  the  library  that  day,  but  I  am 
studying  it  to  please — you  and  no  one  else !" 

She  put  her  two  little  hands  over  Britomart's, 
sitting  very  close  to  her  on  the  divan.  "And  now 
I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me  to  requite 
me  for  this  labor  of  love;  will  you?" 

"I  can't  tell  until  I  know  what  it  is  that  you 
want.  I  do  have  a  feeling  of  gratitude  towards 
you,  Miss  Barlow,  for  hating  your  domineering 
cousin  so  heartily.  Poor  Paul !  He  is  one  of 
the  sufferers  who  comes  under  your  cousin's 
curse." 

"And  who  is  Paul?     Your  sweetheart?" 

"He  is  my  brother,  and  he  works  for  the  Jef 
fries  firm." 

"Good !  Then  you  will  be  all  the  more  willing 
to  do  what  I  wish.  I  want  you  should,  instead  of 
teaching  me  music,  teach  me  Socialism.  Take 
me  with  you  to  your  clubs,  tell  me  what  books 
to  read." 

Britomart  laughed  derisively.  "Your  cousin 
would  accuse  me  of  obtaining  money  under  false 
pretenses.  The  idea  of  my  taking  his  money 
and  putting  in  my  time  teaching  you  socialism — 
it  is  quite  ridiculous." 

"Listen  to  me,"  commanded  Miss  Barlow. 
"You  do  not  understand  our  domestic  arrange-1 
ments  or  you  would  not  say  you  were  taking 
Cousin  Theodore's  money  for  my  lessons.  I  will 
explain,  but  first  I  think  I  will  confer  a  great 
favor  upon  you — one  I  have  never  granted  to 


186  BRITOMART, 

any  of  my  acquaintances  before ;  I  will  intro 
duce  you  to  Betty  Barlow.  Would  you  like-that 
I  should?" 

Britomart  could  not  very  well  refuse,  and 
Clarissa  immediately  led  the  way  into  the  mag 
nificent  hall,  up  the  great  stairs,  where  an.  army 
might  have  ascended  without  inconvenience, 
through  upper  halls,  then  up  another  broad  flight 
of  stairs,  and  threw  open  a  door,  bidding  Brito 
mart  enter. 

The  room  was  bare  save  for  a  long  pine  table 
and  three  chairs.  One  of  them  was  occupied  By 
an  old  woman,  so  shriveled,  so  bony,  so  little  and 
bent,  that  Britomart  stopped  to  consider  a  mo 
ment  whether  this  was  a  human  being  or  a  cun 
ningly  contrived  automaton  made  of  leather.  A 
pot  of  paste  stood  in  front  of  her,  and  at  her 
right  hand  a  hundred  little  bottles.  She  wore  a 
large  cap  of  sheer  muslin  on  her  head  and  a  plaid 
shawl  about  her  shoulders.  She  glanced  up  with 
one  eye,  like  a  bird,  when  her  visitors  came  in, 
but  aside  from  this  slight  acknowledgment  of 
their  presence  she  never  paused  in  her  monoto 
nous  labor.  Her  bird-like  claws  grasped  and 
patted  and  smoothed  the  labels  into  place  with 
a  dexterity  which  surprised  Britomart. 

"Busy  as  ever,  I  see,  grandma,"  began  Clar 
issa. 

The  beady  black  eyes  shot  an  upward  glance 
at  the  two  and  then  the  flying  paste-brush 
wavered  and  stopped. 

"Who's  that,  Clary?"  demanded  the  old  wo- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  187 

man,  fixing  Britomart  with  her  glance  in  quite 
an  alarming  manner.  "Who's  that  you've  got 
with  ye,  I  say !  I  thought  it  was  that  Satan's  cub 
of  an  Inez.  But  she's  been  here,  about  three 
times  today  already.  Hand  me  them  labels,  and 
step  off  lively,  you  limb !  I  ain't  got  time  for 
visitin' ;  I've  got  to  work — to  work,  I  can  tell  ye. 
Them  as  belongs  to  me  is  mighty  fine  folks,  but 
where'd  they  be  with  their  jim-cracks  and  their 
fol-de-rols  if  it  wa'n't  for  old  Betty  Barlow's 
work  ?  Where'd  they  be  ?  Their  old  grandad 
Barlow  never  worked  a  minute  in  his  life — never 
a  minute,  the  old  limb  !  Drunk  all  the  time,  and 
screechin'  like  all  the  devils  in  the  bad  place,  and 
dilirium  tremens  at  last,  and  that's  what  took 
'im." 

"That,  you  see,  was  the  manner  of  my  great 
grandfather's  taking  off,"  Clarissa  said,  her 
whole  face  lit  up  with  elfish  satisfaction  in  her 
great-grandmother's  reminiscences. 

"Lord !"  mumbled  that  lady,  pasting  for  dear 
life,  and  speaking  more  to  herself  than  for  Brito- 
mart's  benefit.  "Many's  the  time  I've  gone  hun 
gry  to  bed,  and  many's  the  time  I've  lived  on 
potatoes  grown  right  down  there  where  the  fac 
tory  stands.  Now  the  folks  is  so  fine !  So 
fine !" 

"Talk  about  descent,"  murmured  Clarissa, 
smiling,  "I  wonder  what  Lord  Kildare  would  say 
to  mine?  And  yet,  Miss  Landor,  he,  the  scion 
of  a  noble  house,  contemplates  marriage  witH 
me — that  is,  would,  if  he  only  knew  which  of  my 


188  BRITOMART, 

grandmothers  would  die  first.  He  has  never, 
by  the  way,  met  Airs.  Barlow.  I  wish  he  might ! 
I  wish  he  might !'" 

"What  ?"  demanded  the  old  woman,  who.  with 
an  upward  tilt  of  an  eye  had  seen  the  words  she 
could  not  hear. 

"I  did  not  say  anything,  grannie;"  and,  then, 
to  Britomart,  "There's  more,  oh,  so  much  more 
family  history.  She'll  get  to  it,  give  her  time. 
Poor  old  Betty.  Her  predilections  for  reminis 
cences  is  the  real  reason  she's  not  tolerated  be 
low  stairs.  A  stroke  of  paralysis  which  deprived 
her  of  the  use  of  her  lower  limbs  years  ago  is  the 
reason  given  to  the  public." 

"Tom  Enderby,  that  married  Hetty,  was  lazy 
enough,  but  he  managed  my  money,  though.  He 
built  the  factory.  But  his  girls  was  limbs.  Dang 
'em!  I  hate  'em.  One  of  'em  married  Jack 
Barlow,  her  own  cousin,  and  the  other  one,  Ben 
Jeffries.  She  was  the  worst  of  the  lot — that 
Inez !"  The  old  woman  fairly  trembled  with 
rage  and  the  paste-brush  zigzaged  through  the 
air.  "She's  the  worst  of  'em  all,  the  worst,  of 
'em  all ;  with  her  fol-de-rols  and  her  gewgaws. 
She's  a  limb  of  old  Satan ;  I  hate  her.  If  I  had 
my  legs  I'd  go  down  an'  screech  at  her  in  the 
front  yard.  I'd  go  in  the  streets  an'  tell  every 
body  who  come  along  all  about  'er  !" 

Clarissa  laughed  in  glee.  "What  about  the 
other  girl,  Clarissa — my  mother  ?"  she  asked  the 
old  woman,  but  that  personage  insisted  on  keep 
ing  to  her  text. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  189 

"Inez  was  the  worst  o'  the  lot.     I  hate  'er !" 
"I  know,  I  know,  grannie,  she's  bad  enough; 
but  so  am  I." 

"You  are  like  Clarissa,  your  mother.  She  was 
bad  enough,  but  not  so  bad  as  Inez.  Dang  'er, 
I  hate  'er!  She  can  spend  the  money  and  Het 
lets  her;  she  and  her  boy,  with  their  fol-de-rols 
and  their  gewgaws.  Her  boy'll  find  out  who  the 
factory  belongs  to,  and  who  the  city  lots  belongs 
to !  They're  all  Betty  Barlow's.  They  was  old 
drunken  Barlow's,  and  now  they're  his  widow's, 
and  I'm  his  widow.  Hand  me  some  more  labels 
and  tell  the  boy  to  come  and  take  the  bottles 
away.  Step  lively!" 

"But,  grannie,  what  of  Clarissa  Enderby,  my 
mother?" 

"She  married  Jack  Barlow,  her  cousin.     His 
hair  was  as  red  as  a  fox's  tail,  and  he  got  mighty 
proud  on  account  of  his  money — mighty  proud." 
"And  after  she  married  her  cousin?" 
"Eh?"  asked  the  old  woman,  with  a  cunninig 
leer. 

"Afterwards,  afterwards,  grannie." 
"Oh,  she  ran  away  with  one  of  the  factory 
hands,  a  gipsy  named  Melton,  with  hair  black 
as  night.  She  staid  away  three  years  and  came 
back  with  a  baby  with  black  hair  like  his — like 
Melton's.  She  came  back  a'most  starved,  and 
they  hushed  it  up,  and  folks  thought  she  had 
been  across  the  water  for  her  health."  Here  the 
old  woman  lost  the  thread  of  her  story  and 'broke 
into  a  senile  cackle. 


190  BRITOMART, 

"Go  on,  grannie.  What  happened  then?" 
"Oh,  I  don't  know.  They  all  died — that  is, 
Jack  Barlow  and  Clarissa — all  but  that  little 
black  young  one.  That  lived  and  Jack  Barlow 
had  said  'twas  his — it  wasn't,  it  was  Melton's — 
and  Het  Enderby  took  care  of  it,  but  she  hated 
it,  and  that  limb  of  an  Inez  hates  it,  and  her  boy 
hates  it;  but  it's  here  and  alive,  and — why,  it's 
you !"  added  the  old  woman,  gleaming  across  at 
Clarissa,  who  in  turn  contemplated  her  great- 
grandmother  with  a  soft  smile  of  satisfaction 
parting  her  full  lips. 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Miss  Landor — that  Clar 
issa  Melton  is  nearer  the  people — the  toilers — 
than  even  Clarissa  Barlow  would  have  been. 
Jack  Barlow  was  one  generation  removed  from? 
hard  necessity,  but  Melton  (first  name  unknown) 
was  a  factory  hand."  Clarissa  beat  a  rapid  tat 
too  with  her  rosy  finger-tips  on  her  grand 
mother's  table.  "You  see,  the  start  of  this  for 
tune  came  from  buying  swamp  land,  from  which 
to  gather  simples  which  Grandma  Barlow  made 
into  medicines  and  bottled  for  market.  She  still 
imagines  she  makes  her  living  by  the  old  indus 
try.  These  bottles  are  taken  to  the  kitchen,  the 
labels  washed  off  and  then  returned  to  be  re- 
labled  by  these  tireless  old  talons.  It -keeps 
Betty  Barlow  quiet,  and  that  is  the  end  and  aim 
of  this  household — to  keep  Betty  Barlow  quiet, 
with  her  reminiscences,  her  jim-cracks  and  fol- 
de-rols.  It's  a  pity  isn't  it,  civilization  will  not 
allow  us  to  dispose  of  the  aged  and  useless  mem- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  191 

bers  of  society  in  a  reasonable  manner,  as  the 
Esquimaux  do.  But  it  doesn't  countenance  such 
proceedings,  and  here  is  old  Betty  Barlow  hang 
ing  on  far  beyond  the  allotted  time  of  mankind 
to  the  disarrangement  of  the  plans  of  the  entire 
family.  By  all  good  rights  she  should  have  laid 
aside  her  paste-brush  fifteen  years  ago  and  died, 
leaving  her  property  in  its  entirety  to  her  only 
daughter,  Henrietta  Enderby,  and  her  heirs  for 
ever.  Then  Henrietta  Enderby,  my  dear  grand 
mother,  could  have  made  a  will  giving  the  money 
where  she  considers  it  belongs,  into  the  hands 
of  Aunt  Inez,  who  would,  eventually,  hand  it 
over  to  Cousin  Theodore,  with  perhaps  a  small 
allowance  for  Clarissa  Melton  Barlow,  the  gipsy, 
who  crept  into  the  family  in  a  manner  which  to 
declare  to  the  world  would  bring  disgrace  on  all 
the  clan,  yet  who,  as  Jack  Barlow's  legitimate 
daughter  and  Clarissa  Enderby's  heir,  will  come 
in  for  Clarissa  Enderby's  half  of  old  Betty  Bar 
low's  money,  which  is  all  the  money  in  the  family. 
You  see  the  complications  growing  out  of  the 
circumstances.  Grandma  Enderby's  health  is 
delicate.  If  she  should  die  before  old  Betty  Bar 
low,  I  would  come  in  for  half  the  fortune  in  spite 
of  everything.  This  would  never  do.  The  for 
tune  must  remain  intact.  In  order  to  insure  this 
Cousin  Theodore  stands  ready  to  marry  me  in 
the  face  of  the  fact  that  he  is  desperately  in  love 
with  Hilda  French,  the  blonde  girl  to  whom  I 
introduced  you  the  other  day.  He  isn't  just  sure 
of  my  consent,  but  believes  that  in  such  an  im- 


192  BRITOMART, 

portant  matter  I  will  listen  to  reason.  Mean 
while  Shelly  Kildare,  that  scion  of  English  aris 
tocracy,  getting  an  inkling  at  the  club  of  my 
American  million  or  so  in  his  depleted  old 
pockets,  hovers  about  us  like  a  bird  of  prey.  He 
knows  the  components  in  the  affair  are  a  girl, 
a  few  millions,  and  two  grandmothers,  but  he  is 
uncertain  just  how  they  are  combined.  Of 
course,  he  doesn't  wish  to  make  a  mistake  and 
carry  home  a  penniless  American  as  his  wife; 
that  is  never  done ;  so  he  flutters  now  near,  now 
far  away.  If  Betty  Barlow  dies  Cousin  Theodore 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  the  lord  take  me 
off  his  hands ;  he  would  even  be  willing  to  throw 
in  a  handsome  dowry.  But  if  Betty  Barlow  out 
lives  his  grandmother  he  does  not  propose  to 
throw  in  the  half  of  the  money.  You  ,see  how 
embarrassing  it  is." 

"Eh  ?"  ejaculated  the  old  woman,  so  suddenly 
that  it  startled  Britomart.  ''They  died,  both  on 
'em.  Maybe  it  was  poison,  and  maybe  'twas  sui 
cide,  I  don't  know.  But  Jack  Barlow  had  red 
hair,  I  know  that,  and  got  mighty  high  afore  he 
died,  with  his  jim-cracks  and  his  fol-de-rols." 

Clarissa  rose  to  go.  "Good-bye,  grannie,"  she 
said,  and  kissed  her  on  her  leathery  old  forehead. 

"Go  'long  with  ye,"  snapped  the  old  woman. 
"Don't  come  a-nigh  me  !" 

"Now,  that's  something  new — that  murder 
and  suicide  idea.  I  must  question  Betty  about 
that.  There  is  always  something  new.  She  is 
a  most  versatile  entertainer,  but,  like  a  parrot, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  193 

she  shuts  up  now  and  then  and  no  amount  of 
force  or  persuasion  can  make  her  talk.  Sur 
rounded  as  I  am  with  such  relatives  and  friends, 
you  can  understand  my  want  of  diversion — that  I 
should  wish  to  become  a  Socialist — to  do  some 
thing  red-handed." 

"But  socialism  is  not  in  that  line,"  smiled 
Britomart.  "Socialism  is  an  adjustment  of  un 
even  conditions.  For  instance,  here  is  your 
superabundance  of  money  making  you  all  mis 
erable,  just  as  my  family's  lack  of  it  is  making 
them  all  miserable,  yet  we  are  helpless  to  mend 
matters  in  the  present  state  of  society.  Money 
has  certainly  been  the  root  of  all  evil  in  your 
family." 

"I  cheerfully  admit  it,"  said  Clarissa. 

"What  we  Socialists  are  striving  for  is  an  ar 
rangement  which  would  make  it  impossible  for 
such  men  as  your  cousin,  Mr.  Jeffries,  to  accu 
mulate  such  a  burden  of  filthy  lucre  that  it  would 
crush  him  and  his  friends  into  the  mire  of  infamy 
— to  make  it  necessary  for  them  to  spend  their 
splendid  energies  in  some  work  which  would 
benefit  the  race,  instead  of  scheming  and  plan 
ning  to  no  better  end  than  to  keep  their  crushing 
load  intact;  on  the  other  hand,  to  give  such 
men  as  my  father  and  brothers,  and  Melton 
("First  name  unknown,"  muttered  Clarissa)  a 
just  compensation  for  their  labor." 

"I  know  now  the  meaning  of  that  strange  thrill 
that  shot  through  my  being  when  I  first  heard 
the  word  'Socialism.'  It  was  mv  father's  blood 


194  BRITOMART, 

stirring  in  me,  the  blood  of  that  factory  hand.  I 
see  by  your  face,  Miss  Landor,  that  you  wonder 
at  my  pride  in  my  father,  or  that  I  am  willing  to 
mention  him  at  all  under  the  circumstances ;  but 
do  you  know,  ever  since  Betty  Barlow  disclosed 
to  me  the  family  skeleton  in  the  shape  of  this 
scandal  about  my  father  and  mother,  I've  had  a 
tender  feeling  for  him ;  in  fact,  he  is  the  only  one 
among  my  relatives  about  whom  there  is  a- 
doubt,  and  I  am  willing  and  anxious  to  give  him 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  You  have  heard,  your 
self,  from  old  Betty  Barlow,  that  my  great 
grandfather  was  a  reprobate;  Betty — you  can 
readily  see  that  Betty  was  no  saint;  my  grand 
mother  Enderby  I  detest,  because  she  is  one  of 
these  crawling,  quiet,  persistent  women,  with  no 
idea  whatever  of  principle ;  Aunt  Inez  is  just 
what  my  mother  must  have  been,  a  bundle  of 
shallow  selfishness.  Poor  Theodore !  What 
can  the  world  demand  of  a  man  with  such  fore 
bears?  The  only  thing  I  have  to  thank  my 
mother  for  is  that,  instead  of  strengthening  the 
strain  of  Barlow  blood  in  me,  she  gave  me  for  a 
father  the  proletary,  the  factory  hand,  Melton, 
whose  first  name  is  a  blank  in  Betty  Barlow's  old 
brain.  Don't  try  to  argue  me  out  of  my  re 
spectful  love  for  my  father,  Miss  Landor.  I  re 
peat,  he  is  the  only  one  regarding  whom  there  is 
a  doubt  of  his  utter  worthlessness. 

"I  like  to  think  of  Melton  in  this  way:  He 
was  poor.  He  worked  hard  for  the  pittance 
doled  out  to  him  by  his  paymaster,  overbearing, 


THE  SOCIALIST.  195 

red-headed,  purse-proud  Jack  Barlow.  He  saw 
Barlow's  wife ;  she  was  like  Aunt  Inez,  I  assume, 
handsome,  in  a  certain  way,  but  thoroughly 
selfish — to  be  touched  by  nothing  save  flattery. 
He  knew  her  to  be  the  source  of  Jack  Barlow's 
wealth  and  pride,  and,  hating  the  whole  Barlow 
tribe,  longing  for  revenge,  he  became  conscious 
of  his  power  over  the  woman.  (He  was  a  fine 
figure  of  a  man,  this  nameless  father  of  mine; 
of  that  I  am  certain.)  He  exercised  that  power 
to  the  uttermost  and  carried  her  away,  together 
with  enough  Barlow  dollars  to  make  them  com 
fortable.  She  was  a  vixen,  of  course — Aunt  Inez 
is — she  drove  him  to  drink  and  at  last  deserted 
him,  taking  with  her  the  little  being  he  loved  bet 
ter  than  life  itself.  She  came  back  to  the  fiery 
Jack  Barlow,  and  from  what  I  gathered  from 
Betty's  nonsense  this  morning  there  was  a  trag 
edy  of  some  sort,  a  further  blemish  on  the  family 
history  which  must  be  kept  hidden  at  all  hazards. 
"I  never  had  an  inkling  of  this  before.  This  is 
one  of  the  peculiarities  which  makes  Betty  so 
interesting  to  me.  Her  memory  is  like  a  haunted 
castle,  where  rats  run  through  many  apartments 
and  the  wind  howls  about  the  turrets.  Every 
day  some  new  room,  containing  old  relics,  is  dis 
covered  by  the  investigator,  more  grotesque, 
more  shuddery,  than  the  rest.  Aunt  Inez  says 
the  tales  are  the  vagaries  of  an  unhinged  mind, 
but  I  know  better ;  I  know  they  are  all  as  true  as 
gospel.  When  one  of  those  long-closed  com 
partments  are  opened  the  contents  become  com- 


186  BRITOMART, 

mon  property,  and  she  repeats  them  over  and 
over  again  without  a  change  in  a  single  detail. 
But  there  are  still  undiscovered  compartments, 
filled  with  mysterious  reminiscences,  which  I 
must  possess  myself  of  before  Betty  pays  the 
debt  of  nature.  Perhaps  I  may  even  recover, 
stowed  away  in  a  bale  or  barrel,  that  mislaid 
first  name  of  Melton's." 

Clarissa  took  Britomart  to  her  room  and  made 
tea  there,  brewing  and  pouring  with  those  ex 
quisite  hands,  while  the  low,  deliberate  voice 
recounted  the  dark  chapters  of  the  family  his 
tory.  Britomart  found  her  charming.  When 
Clarissa  set  about  it  she  could  win  one  com 
pletely.  She  seldom  cared  to  do  so,  and  usually 
preferred  people  to  hate  and  fear,  rather  than 
love  her ;  but  this  stately  music  teacher,  country 
girl,  Socialist,  pleased  her  from  the  first,  and 
she  strove  for  her  friendship  with  all  the  arts 
of  which  she  was  the  mistress.  Britomart  never 
fawned  upon  her,  never  seemed  to  be  currying 
favor  for  her  own  ends,  and  this  pleased  Clarissa. 
She  had  no  wish  to  act  the  patroness  to  the  music 
teacher;  she  was  hungry  for  a  friend — a  confi 
dant,  something  she  had  never  possessed  in  all 
her  luxurious  life. 

"Take  pity  on  me,  dear  Britomart,"  she  said 
to  her  one  day;  "think  how  little  affection  is 
mine  in  this  dreary  world.  My  grandmother  and 
aunt  hate  me  for  an  upstart ;  Theodore  is  worse 
than  all  because,  hating  me,  he  still  intends  to 
marry  me  merely  on  account  of  the  money. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  197 

Betty  Barlow  is  really  the  kindest  I  have,  and 
Betty,  you  understand,  is  erratic  in  her  affec 
tions." 

Britomart  resisted  the  girl's  pleadings  to  be 
allowed  to  accompany  her  to  the  meetings  of  the 
Socialists.  She  told  Blair  of  Clarissa's  desire  to 
see  and  know  more  of  the  workings  of  the  clubs. 

"Bring  her,"  said  Blair.  "Educate  her.  Who 
knows?  She  may  prove  worth  it." 

"Yes,"  sneered  Paul,  "do  it,  Britomart.  It 
would  be  gratifying  to  think  of  his  high-mighti 
ness,  Jeffries,  being  obliged  to  acknowledge  his 
wife  a  Socialist." 

Paul  was  very  bitter  against  Jeffries.  When 
the  shops  resumed  work  he  was  discharged  un 
conditionally,  because  his  hand  had  been  on  the 
rope  in  the  foreman  affair.  He  was  living  on 
his  sister's  earnings,  and  the  fact  galled  him. 
Every  day  he  walked  the  streets  looking  for 
work,  at  first  patiently,  then  bitterly,  then  re 
vengefully.  His  was  not  a  nature  to  gain  knowl 
edge  in  adversity.  He  possessed  a  bad  instinct 
— that  of  the  anarchist,  to  be  revenged,  to  blow 
up,  to  annihilate.  It  took  the  combined  efforts 
of  Blair  and  Britomart  to  keep  Paul  within 
bounds  those  days.  Blair  considered  it  provi 
dential  that  Britomart  was  in  the  city.  "  'Brito 
mart'  is  the  charm-word  that  keeps  him  from 
ruin,"  Blair  said,  smiling  at  her,  "but  think  of 
the  poor  lads,  ignorant  and  vicious,  who  have  no 
word,  no  inspiration;  feeling  the  heavy  heel  of 
the  oppressor,  turning  like  a  writhing  worm,  but 


198  BRITOMART, 

knowing  not  where  to  strike,  with  the  power  in 
their  own  hands  to  change  it  all  if  only  they  can 
be  brought  to  understand.  Missionaries !  I  tell 
you,  Miss  Britomart,  God  calls  aloud  for  mis 
sionaries  to  enlighten  the  people!" 


CHAPTER  XL 

Very  much  to  Mrs.  Jeffries'  surprise  and 
gratification,  her  niece  requested  to  be  allowed  to 
entertain  their  friends  with  a  musicale,  the  en 
tertainment  to  consist  principally  of  solos  by 
Mrs.  Jeffries,  with  Miss  Landor  as  accompanist. 
Clarissa  proposed  to  take  the  responsibility  of 
the  affair  entirely  upon  herself  and  no  one  knew 
better  than  Inez  Jeffries  how  well  her  prospective 
daughter-in-law  could  do  such  things  when  she 
chose.  They  made  out  the  list  of  names  to 
gether  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  graciously  proposed  to 
leave  out  that  of  Hilda  French.  She  knew  of 
Theodore's  preference  for  the  prettv  blonde  and 
believed  there  must,  of  course,  be  a  rankling 
jealousy  in  Clarissa's  heart  on  that  account.  It 
was  almost  a  certainty  now  that  Theodore  would 
marry  his  cousin.  Mrs.  Enderby's  health  was 
growing  extremely  delicate,  and  the  animated 
little  parcel  of  bones  upstairs,  busily  labeling  bot 
tles,  seemed  to  have  a  new  lease  of  life.  Like 
Riley's  Grandfather  Squeers,  she  had  "rounded 
her  three  score  and  ten,  had  the  hang  of  it  now, 
and  could  go  it  again." 

Inez  disliked  her  niece  on  her  own  and  again 
on  Theodore's  account.  Poor  boy !  Obliged  to 
marry  the  little  imp !  If  Grannie  Barlow  would 
only  die  it  could  all  be  arranged  so  nicely.  Lord 
Kildare  was  anxious  to  take  Clarissa  off  their 
hands,  thereby  adding  by  his  title  a  new  luster 


200  BRITOMART, 

to  the  family  name.  Theodore  could  then  be 
sure  of  all  the  Barlow  fortune,  and  Hilda  French 
would  make  him  a  charming  wife.  Mrs.  Inez 
had  plans  of  her  own  in  the  matrimonial  line. 
Mr.  Chauncey  Hawkins  was  a  frequent  and  wel 
come  visitor  at  the  Jeffries  mansion,  and  al 
though  Mrs.  Jeffries  was  quite  certain  Theodore 
never  mistrusted  such  a  state  of  affairs,  and 
would  have  disapproved  emphatically  if  he  had, 
Mr.  Hawkins'  attentions  to  the  black-eyed 
widow  were  at  times  quite  lover-like.  Mrs.  Jeff 
ries  was  flattered  by  these  attentions.  Chauncey 
Hawkins,  although  prematurely  aged  by  a  dis 
solute  life,  was  a  man  of  fashion,  a  bachelor,  ever 
welcome  in  the  most  exclusive  drawing  rooms  in 
the  city.  He  had  no  money — that  is,  none  to 
speak  of — but  he  could  dance  divinely,  and  al 
ways  dressed  correctly,  and  never,  on  any  oc 
casion,  appeared,  or  acted,  in  a  manner  which 
his  worst  enemy  could  construe  as  bad  form. 
That  is,  in  society.  Mrs.  Jeffries  had  heard  whis 
pers  of  some  of  his  doings  which  possessed  no 
form  whatever,  other  than  that  of  him  of  the 
horns  and  hoofs,  but  Mrs.  Jeffries  was  fashion 
ably  lenient  in  such  matters.  "Men  would  be 
men,"  she  soliloquized,  by  which  she  meant  that 
men  would  be  beasts.  As  for  money,  if  Grand 
ma  Barlow  would  only  die,  and  then — well, 
should  the  money  come  to  her  before  it  went  to 
Theodore,  she  would  have  her  day,  at  least,  be 
fore  she  passed  it  on;  and  there  was  plenty  for 
all. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  201 

Britomart  donned  her  black  silk  in  a  good  deal 
of  a  .tremor  on  the  eventful  night.  When  she 
was  ready  Paul  and  Blair  both  declared  she  was 
a  picture.  She  tried  to  smile,  but  there  was  a 
lump  in  her  threat  as  she  thought  of  poor  Paul 
struggling  with  the  demon  of  the  unemployed. 
She  would  not  let  him  accompany  her,  but 
begged  Blair  to  spend  the  evening  with  him. 

"You  may  come  for  me  at  twelve,  Paul,"  she 
said,  "but  I  will  take  a  car  now  and  be  there  in 
no  time.  I  am  not  afraid  so  early  in  the  even 
ing." 

tThe  fact  was  that  in  her  brother's  present 
frame  of  mind  she  felt  that  he  was  safer  at  home 
with  Blair  than  wandering  about  until  such  time 
as  she  should  be  at  liberty  to  go  home.  She 
never  left  him  alone  evenings  if  it  were  possible 
to  avoid  it.  It  would  have  been  a  necessity  to 
night  had  Blair  not  happened  in,  for  Clarissa 
had  intimated  that  this  night's  work  might  be 
the  means  of  introducing  her  into  a  new  and 
lucrative  field  of  employment ;  in  short,  that  she, 
Clarissa,  had  undertaken  to  make  her  the  fash 
ion. 

"It  may  not  last,"  she  warned,  "but  there  is 
money  in  it  while  it  does.  You  will  be  asked  to 
assist  at  other  musicals  ;  and  when  you  are,  don't 
be  afraid  to  ask  a  price  for  your  services.  They 
will  think  all  the  more  of  you.  In  our  set  things 
are  not  judged  by  their  actual  worth,  but  by  what 
they  represent  in  money  values.  I  shall  slyly  cir 
culate  the  report  that  your  services  come  high — 


202  BRITOMART, 

that  not  every  one  could  afford  to  avail  them 
selves  of  such  talent,  and,  believe  me,  you  will 
have  business.  But  don't  lay  me  in  the  lie  by 
being  modest.  Mind,  this  pinnacle  cannot  be 
reached  by  hard  work,  nor  by  ability ;  it  can  only 
be  reached  by  becoming  the  fashion,  and  I  mean, 
for  awhile  at  least,  to  make  you  the  fashion." 

Britomart  was  painfully  early.  She  had  not 
realized  how  early  until  the  servant  conducted 
her  from  the  dressing  room  into  the  brilliantly 
lighted  parlors  where,  as  yet,  no  guests  had  as 
sembled.  The  music  room  was  now  one  witfi 
the  library,  and  the  piano,  banked  with  flowers 
whose  heavy  perfume  hung  in  the  warm  air,  was 
pulled  into  a  conspicuous  place  ready  for  the 
evening's  entertainment.  Clarissa  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen,  and  Britomart  shrank  from  becoming 
the  target  for  the  eyes  of  each  succeeding  bevy 
of  guests  as  they  arrived.  She  approached  the 
piano  and  ran  her  fingers  softly  over  the  keys, 
"just  to  get  the  feel  of  them,"  as,  she  expressed 
it.  She  felt  wretched  and  out  of  place,  and  for 
the  life  of  her  she  couldn't  keep  the  picture^  oi 
poor,  dejected  Paul  out  of  her  mind.  Wfien  she 
thought  of  him  the  pitying  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes  and  the  lump  in  her  throat  became  pain 
ful.  But  that  would  never  do.  Tears  at  this 
critical  moment  might  ruin  everything.  Clarissa 
had  said  her  queenly  carriage  and  fresh  com 
plexion  would  do  much  for  her,  and  instead  of 
weeping  for  Paul  she  must  work  for  Paul.  She 
must  help  amuse  these  blase  people,  who  pos- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  203 

sessed  so  much  of  this  world's  good  things  that 
they  were  dying  of  the  fatigue  of  enjoyment,  and 
spent  their  lives  hunting  for  something  to  give 
them  new  sensations ;  no  matter  whether  a 
French  dancer  or  a  religious  enthusiast,  a  painter 
or  a  massagist,  a  saint  or  a  mountebank.  Brito- 
mart,  still  touching  the  keys,  looked  over  Her 
shoulder  at  the  beautiful  rooms  full  of  soft  light 
and  the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  into  the  recep 
tion  hall,  out  of  which  rose  the  great  polished 
staircase,  where  presently  appeared  the  two 
cousins,  side  by  side ;  Jeffries  so  stately,  so  hand 
some,  and  Clarissa,  so  bewitching  that  Britomart 
caught  her  breath.  Ah  !  why  was  it  not  true  that 
beauty  and  goodness  were  closely  allied?  Why 
was  there  not  room  in  that  big,  handsome  body 
of  his  for  a  great  heart ;  one  to  feel  the  needs  of 
the  world,  an  unselfish  heart?  "There  is,  tfiere 
is !"  Blair  would  have  assured  her.  "It  is  the 
cursed  system  of  private  capitalism  which  has 
ruined  the  man's  soul.  Do  not  condemn  him. 
He,  even  more  than  Paul,  is  a  victim.  Manli 
ness,  philanthropy,  are  dead  within  him,  and 
their  places  are  filled  by  baseless  pride  and  lust 
of  gain.  What  greater  calamity  can  a  man  suf 
fer!"  Jeffries,  looking  down  upon  the  girl  at 
the  piano,  thought,  "A  fine-looking  girl,  but  a 
fool.  Pity  she  can't  rid  herself  of  that  Socialistic 
bee  she  has  in  her  bonnet  and  go  about  her  busi 
ness  as  a  woman  should,  asking  no  questions. " 
Clarissa  advanced  with  effusion  and  kissed  Brito 
mart  on  the  lips.  It  was  not  like  her.  She  was 


204  BRITOMART, 

never  demonstrative,  and  Britomart  knew  the 
kiss  was  given  to  annoy  Mr.  Jeffries. 

"Come  upstairs,  dear,  I  want  to  loan  you  a  dia 
mond  for  your  hair  and  a  bit  of  real  lace  for  the 
front  of  your  gown."  Britomart  protested.  "But 
you  must,"  persisted  Clarissa.  "Surely  you  do 
not  want  to  be  accused  of  parsimony,  and  a 
young  woman  who  receives  such  magnificent  re 
muneration  for  her  services  can  afford  a  little 
quiet  elegance." 

"The  jewel  of  contentment  which  Miss  Landor 
undoubtedly  possesses  is,  after  all,  the  more  be 
coming,"  said  Mr.  Jeffries,  in  a  manner  which 
Britomart  might  have  construed  as  compliment- 
"ary. 

"But  I  do  not  possess  it,"  answered  Britomart, 
and  then  was  angry  at  herself  because  she  had 
again  taken  up  the  foils  against  this  man.  Her 
forte  was  not  argument,  she  lacked  the  coolness 
necessary  for  success.  She  determined  not  to 
open  her  lips  again,  no  matter  what  he  said. 
Clarissa  leaned  against  the  piano,  her  red  lips 
widened  in  an  expectant  smile.  She  hoped  for 
a  battle.  There  was  time  before  the  guests 
would  arrive.  The  dark  wood  of  the  instrument 
and  the  white  of  her  gown  together  brought  out 
all  the  rich  tints  of  her  face,  the  dusky  splendor 
of  her  hair  and  eyes. 

"You  are  not  contented?"  questioned  Theo 
dore.  "You  should  be ;  you  have  youth,  health 
and — pardon  me — beauty." 

"You  flatter  me." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  205 

"I  do  not,  I  assure  you." 

"Then  let  me  return  the  compliment  in  kind. 
You  yourself  possess  the  attributes  you  so  kindly 
acknowledge  are  mine — namely,  youth,  health 
and  good  looks ;  but  you  have  something  more." 

"You  refer  to " 

"Your  wealth,  certainly.  You  did  not  mince 
matters  in  your  summing  up  of  my  advantages, 
why  -should  I  in  speaking  of  yours  ?  You  have 
the  power  to  dictate  to  a  number  of  your  fellow- 
men  whether  they  shall  live  or  not.  You  have 
the  opportunity,  by  reason  of  wealth  accumu 
lated  through  the  toil  of  others  before  you  were 
born,  to  say  to  men :  'You  must  not  think  your 
own  thoughts,  but  mine ;  you  must  not  vote,  for 
your  candidate,  but  mine ;  you  must  not  dare 
even  to  resent  an  insult  received  in  my  employ/ 
You  have  the  power  to  do  and  say  all  this,  by 
reason  of  your  wealth.  In  short,  you  are  a  god, 
who  controls  not  only  men's  bodies,  but  their 
souls." 

Jeffries  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  He 
had  not  meant  to  argue  with  this  pretty  woman  ; 
it  was  beneath  his  dignity.  He  had  intended 
only  to  browbeat  her  a  little,  but  she  had  suc 
ceeded  in  angering  him.  She  had  said — as  she 
always  managed  to  say — the  thing  which  mad 
dened  him.  This  ceaseless  whining  for  rights, 
rights,  rights,  from  workmen  and  from  women, 
was  sickening. 

Clarissa,  leaning  in  silence  against  the  piano, 
showing  only  by  her  smile  how  much  she  en- 


206  BR1TOMART, 

joyed  the  encounter,  should  have  been  clothed 
in  a  red  domino,  sported  a  single  red  feather  in 
her  cap  and  disclosed  a  cloven  hoof,  so  Mephis- 
tophelan  was  her  expression  and  attitude. 

A  red  flush  shot  across  Jeffries'  cheeks  and 
nose,  showing  his  anger. 

"These  are,  of  course,  the  sophistries  of  So 
cialism.  I  have  heard  all  this  before,  and  it  is 
to  be  deplored  that  intelligent  people  give  it 
room  in  their  thoughts  for  a  moment.  It  is  on 
a  par  with  spiritual  manifestations.  Every  gen 
eration  a  new  set  of  zealots  search  for  signs  from 
the  spirit  world,  while  their  counterparts  dream 
of  Utopia;  both  fruitless — unavailing.  My  dear 
Miss  Landor,  this  went  on  generations  before 
you  and  I  were  born,  it  will  go  on  when  our 
bones  are  dust  and  our  names  forgotten.  No 
nearer  accomplishment  than  a  thousand  years 
ago.  It  reminds  me  of  the  ceaseless  beat  of  the 
waves  on  a  rock-bound  shore.  They  advance 
savagely,  resistlessly,  to  tear  away  the  eternal 
rocks,  only  to  fall  back  in  defeat,  to  growl  and 
gather  for  another  despairing  attack.  This 
drama  was  enacted  when  the  world  was  young ;  it 
will  be  repeated  when  she  shrinks  to  nothingness 
with  age." 

"If  this  be  true,  God  help  the  race  he  has  cre 
ated  !"  murmured  Britomart,  solemnly.  At  that 
moment  her  faith  was  weak.  She  felt  that  Jef 
fries  was  right,  and  Dennis  Blair,  with  his  op 
timistic  reading  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  was 


THE  SOCIALIST.  207 

being  led  astray  by  the  ardent  longings  of  a  gen 
erous  heart. 

Clarissa,  uncoiling  herself  and  drawing  Brito- 
mart  away,  fixed  her  black  eyes  on  her  cousin 
and  softly  said:  "The  waves  beating  on  the 
rocks  may  not  visibly  affect  them,  but  at  times 
they  engulf  individuals ;  isn't  it  so,  Cousin  Theo 
dore?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  snapped  Theo 
dore,  still  warm  from  his  own  eloquence. 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking  of  that  funny  fellow  whom 
we  saw  washed  from  the  rocks  at  Old  Point 
Comfort  last  summer.  I  can't  understand  your 
social  questions,  your  jim-cracks  and  fol-de-rols, 
as  our  relative  would  say." 

"See  that  you  do  not  try,  little  girl,"  Theodore 
answered.  "It  would  be  better  for  civilization  if 
people  worked  more  and  dreamed  less." 

"Yes,  yes ;  he  is  right,"  assented  Clarissa ; 
"more  good,  hard  work  and  less  jim-cracks  and 
fol-de-rols,  is  what  the  people  need,"  and  she 
smothered  an  impudent  little  laugh  in  a  pink 
palm. 

Theodore  could  neither  understand  nor  for 
give  her  in  these  moods.  He  felt  that  nothing 
would  do  him  so  much  good  as  to  resort  to  the 
old-fashioned  manner  of  disciplining  wives  and 
sweethearts  and  give  her  a  whipping.  A  mo 
ment  ago  he  had  thought  her  charming,  now  she 
was  mocking  him  for  the  benefit  of  this  auda 
cious  young  music  teacher. 

"It  is  not  always  the  working  people,"  he  re- 


208  BRITOMART, 

torted,  angrily ;  ''this  is  the  strange  part  of  it. 
Look  at  Barring,  a  millionaire  in  his  own  right, 
and  mad  as  a  March  hare  on  the  subject  of  equal- 
ity." 

"You  will  see  him  tonight,"  Clarissa  mur 
mured  in  Britomart's  ear. 

"Of  whom  are  you  talking?"  asked  Britomart. 

"This  mad  March  hare,  worth  a  million,  yet 
yearning  for  equality  among  men — James  Bar- 
ring." 

They  were  mounting  the  stairs,  and  Britomart 
imagined  Clarissa's  tongue  lingered  lovingly  on 
the  name.  She  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that 
she  had  solved  the  mystery  of  Clarissa's  wish  to 
know  more  about  Socialism.  It  was  partly  to 
spite  her  cousin,  but  more  especially  to  please 
this  rich  young  Socialist  with  whom  she  was  in 
love. 

"James  Barring,  you  say?  There  must  be 
good  in  him — oh,  much  good  in  him,  if,  blinded 
by  millions,  he  can  yet  see  truth  and  justice,  Miss 
Barlow.  I  know  I  shall  admire  this  man." 

"You  shall  see  him  tonight,"  reiterated  Clar 
issa,  still  in  that  preoccupied,  dreamy  fashion 
which  a  girl  falls  into  when  speaking  of  the  man 
she  loves. 

"She  loves,  but  is  not  sure  of  his  love  for  her," 
decided  Britomart,  and  a  thrill  of  affection  for 
this  erratic  young  woman  stirred  in  her.  "If  she 
has  sense  and  heart  enough  to  care  for  a  man 
who  has  sense  and  heart  enough  to  care  for  his 
fellowmen,  there  is  something  lovable  about  her 


THE  SOCIALIST.  209 

after  all."  Impulsively  she  stooped  and  placed 
a  kiss  as  light  as  air  on  the  creamy  shoulder  ris 
ing  from  Clarissa's  white  gown.  A  flash  of  red 
shot  into  the  girl's  face.  Britomart  might  have 
believed  it  a  flush  of  pleasure  had  it  not  been 
for  the  analytical  stare  with  which  Clarissa  was 
regarding  her. 

"Why  did  you  do  that,  Britomart?"  she  asked 
in  a  tone  of  curiosity. 

"It  was  for  the  Socialist,"  -  said  Britomart, 
laughing. 

When  they  went  down  again  the  rooms  were 
already  filling  with  a  glittering,  chattering  com 
pany.  Clarissa's  eyes  scanned  the  crowd  rap 
idly.  She  must  perform  her  part  of  hostess,  and 
she  was  not  willing  to  leave  Britomart  stranded 
on  the  tender  mercies  of  the  soft-voiced  women 
around  her.  She  knew  what  their  attitude 
would  be  toward  an  unknown  young  woman  in 
a  black  silk,  despite  the  diamond  and  bit  of  real 
lace. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Barring !"  she  said,  discovering  the 
one  for  whom  she  had  been  looking,  "I  want  to 
introduce  you  to  another  mad  March  hare. 
Britomart,  this  is  Mr.  Barring,  whose  political 
shortcomings  Cousin  Theodore  described  to  you 
a  few  moments  ago.  Miss  Landor,  Mr.  Barring. 
His  ideas  about  'classes  and  masses,'  equal  dis 
tribution,  and  so  on,  are  wild  enough  to  suit  even 
you,  I  think.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Barring,  I  have 
something  which  belongs  to  you — was  left  in  my 
keeping  for  you.  Some  day  it  shall  be  yours." 


210  BRITOMART, 

She  slyly  touched  the  shoulder  Britomart  had 
kissed  with  the  tip  of  her  fan,  and  Britomart,  un 
derstanding,  laughed  and  blushed ;  and,  laughing 
and  blushing,  looked  up  into  the  calm  grey  eyes 
of  the  millionaire,  who  was  a  Socialist,  finding 
herself  on  easy  terms  of  friendship  at  once.  He 
found  a  retired  seat  for  her,  and  they  talked  until 
Clarissa  came  to  tell  Britomart  she  was  wanted 
at  the  piano. 

Miss  Barlow  had  done  her  work  well.  Admir 
ing  eyes  followed  Miss  Landor  as  her  queenly 
head  bent  above  the  white  keys  which  her  supple 
fingers  manipulated  so  skillfully.  Mrs.  Jeffries 
sang,  and  feminine  heads  leaned  toward  each 
other  and  \vhispers,  like  soft  breezes,  floated 
about  the  room.  Inez  believed  the  whisperings 
were  of  her,  but  they  were  not.  They  were  of 
the  beautiful  young  pianist,  who  already  com 
manded  fabulous  prices  for  her  services,  who  was 
a  phenomenon  it  would  be  well  to  cultivate.  She 
harbored  queer  beliefs,  it  was  whispered.  She 
was  of  Russian  descent  and  at  heart  a  nihilist,  a 
reformer,  an  anarchist,  and  above  all,  she  did  not 
believe  in  God.  Poor  Britomart  would  have 
been  horrified  had  she  ever  known  what  a  career 
Clarissa  had  attributed  to  her,  plain,  Methodis- 
tical  little  country  girl  that  she  was ;  but  she 
would  have  been  delighted  to  the  point  of  grate 
ful  tears  could  she  have  read  the  resolutions  in 
a  score  of  fashionable  breasts  to  secure  her  serv 
ices  in  their  own  homes  at  no  matter  what  price. 
There  was  a  flattering  hush  when  she  played 


THE  SOCIALIST.  211 

alone.  Without  her  knowledge  her  star  of  for 
tune  had  arisen  within  the  hour;  even  while  in 
her  heart  she  was  saying,  "Oh,  how  unhappy  I 
am!  How  wretched!  It  is  no  use  my  trying, 
nor  Paul's  trying,  nor  any  one's  trying.  Success 
does  not  come  through  hard  work  nor  honesty. 
It  comes  through  wealth  alone.  And  Theodore 
Jeffries  was  right.  Our  strivings  are  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea,  ever  beating,  beating,  yet  being 
in  the  end  beaten.  How  wretched  it  all  is,  and 
how  I  hate  these  ogling  women,  the  impudent 
young  ones  the  most.  And  that  blonde  one, 
Hilda  French  with  her  aristocratic  china-blue 
eyes,  I  hate  more  than  all  the  rest.  I  cannot  be 
a  Christian  and  hate  people  so.  I  have  my  own 
vagaries ;  I,  too,  would  like  to  be  'freaky'  and 
inconsistent,  but  in  me  it  would  not  be  tolerated ; 
but  Clarissa  Barlow — what  may  she  not  do  and 
be  forgiven,  even  though  it  is  but  the  shadow 
of  a  fortune  which  hovers  above  her.  She  may 
tantalize  as  she  will,  may  sulk,  or  sneer,  she  will 
be  loved — is  loved — I  know  it — by  James  Bar 
ring,  a  millionaire,  and,  I  believe,  a  gentleman  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  What  kind  eyes,  and 
his  wide,  handsome  mouth !  It  will  never  speak 
an  angry  word  to  the  women  who  loves  him.  I 
wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  be  kissed  by  such 
a  mouth.  Oh,  shame!  What  am  I  thinking? 
God  help  me  to  put  such  silly  thoughts  out  of 
my  head  and  keep  them  out.  I  am  John  Lan- 
dor's  daughter,  trying  to  make  a  decent  living  in 
this  hard  city.  My  brother  is  a  mechanic  out  of 


212  BRITOMART, 

employment  and  depending  upon  my  fitful  earn 
ings  to  tide  him  over.  This  is  the  only  respecta 
ble  dress  I  have,  and  it  is  breaking  under  the 
arms  a  little.  The  rent  is  due — God  help  me  to 
play  well !"  God  help  me  to  play  well!" 

One  woman  was  whispering  to  her  neighbor 
that  she  could  see  very  well  why  the  girl  was  a 
success.  It  was  because  she  threw  her  whole 
soul  into  the  interpretation  of  the  composer's 
thought,  that  she  was  absorbed  by  his  conception 
of  the  theme — one  could  read  it  in  her  face.  An 
other  murmured  that  she  was  very  interesting 
despite  her  disbelief  in  a  Divine  Providence. 
When  Britomart's  fingers  fell  from  the  keys  and 
she  rose  she  was  startled  by  a  wave  of  genuine 
applause. 

"Fine-looking  girl,"  meekly  suggested  Mr. 
Hawkins,  as  he  stood  beside  Mrs.  Jeffries  in  a 
far  corner. 

"Do  you  think  so,  really?"  asked  the  lady,  with 
a  jerky  motion  of  the  shoulders  which  corre 
sponded  with  her  "snapping"  eyes.  "Too  large 
and  ungainly." 

"She  is  large,"  qualified  Mr.  Hawkins ;  "but, 
dear  Mrs.  Jeffries,  you  know  my  penchant  for 
dark-haired  women.  I  can  forgive  a  dork- 
haired  woman  any  shortcoming."  And  Mrs.  Jef 
fries  simpered  and  declared  him  incorrigible. 

"If  any  ask  you  for  your  services,"  whispered 
Clarissa,  "send  them  to  me.  You  must  not  let 
them  come  to  your  home  and  discover  that  you 
do  your  own  work ;  that  would  ruin  everything. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  213 

Mystery,  mystery — that  will  fetch  them.  Your 
fortune  is  assured,  my  dear.  You'll  get  their 
shekels,  and  you  really  did  play  well — too  well, 
for  dear  Aunt  Inez'  song." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Although  the  musicale  could  not  be  voted 
other  than  a  success  from  every  point  of  view, 
there  was  a  feeling  of  storm  present  at  the  Jef 
fries'  breakfast  table  next  morning.  In  the  first 
place  Clarissa  was  late,  and  this  always  angered 
Grandma  Enderby.  Mrs.  Jeffries  was  in  ill-tem 
per  because  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Jeffries,  the  solo 
ist,  had  been  overshadowed  by  Miss  Landor,  the 
accompanist. 

"Hasn't  Clarissa  come  down  yet?"  she  asked 
of  Theodore,  who  stood  in  the  window  looking 
over  the  morning  paper  for  allusions  to  the  late 
strike.  "She  takes  her  time,  surely.  I  pity  you, 
Theodore,  when  that  girl  is  your  wife." 

Theodore  was  not  in  a  mood  to  accept  pity 
with  any  degree  of  composure.  He  was  out  of 
patience  with  Clarissa  for  being  in  his  way,  with 
Hilda  French  for  flirting  with  Lord  ICildare — 
with  the  world  in  general. 

"Please  reserve  your  pity.  At  least  I  am  not 
in  need  of  it  at  present.  How  is  Grandma  Bar 
low  this  morning?  Have  you  been  up?" 

"Oh,  no  ;  but  I  sent  Justine.  She  is  well,  very 
well,  indeed." 

Grandma  Enderby  sighed.  "I  wish  I  were  as 
strong,"  she  said ;  "I  spent  a  wretched  night — no 
sleep  whatever." 

Mrs.  Enderby  was  a  pale  old  woman,  with 
snow-white  hair  and  a  weak  face.  The  strong 


THE  SOCIALIST.  215 

character  which  was  a  family  trait,  showing  itself 
in  differing  and  not  always  pleasing  individuali 
ties,  seemed  to  have  skipped  her  entirely,  leaving 
a  blank.  She  had  been  as  wax  in  the  hands  of 
her  impish  mother,  her  black-eyed,  energetic 
daughter  and  her  handsome  grandson. 

The  family  gathered  at  the  table  and  the  serv 
ant  brought  the  coffee  as  Clarissa  entered.  She 
wore  the  Japanese  lounging  dress  with  the 
dragon-flies  darting  through  its  silver  meshes. 
This  gown  was  a  favorite  of  hers.  She  was  the 
onlj  member  of  the  family  who  showed  no  signs 
that  the  preceding  evening  had  been  a  fatiguing 
one.  Mrs.  Enderby  had  collapsed  into  a  sickly, 
wilted  heap  in  her  chair,  but  at  Clarissa's  en 
trance  she  revived  in  order  to  give  her  grand 
daughter  a  rating  for  being  late  to  breakfast." 

"So  sorry,  grandma." 

Her  words  belied  her.  She  was  the  personi 
fication  of  smiling  indifference. 

"Good  morning,  Cousin  Theodore.  I  have 
just  been  up  to  see  dear  old  Betty  Barlow,  and 
do  you  know,  she  has  been  telling  me  the  fun 
niest  things." 

"While  we  sat  here  waiting  breakfast!" 
snapped  Mrs.  Jeffries. 

"Hasn't  ours  been  a  queer  family  history, 
Theodore?" 

"If  one  cares  to  listen  to  the  ravings  of  an 
old  woman  who  has  been  bereft  of  her  senses 
for  years,"  snapped  Mrs.  Jeffries. 

"O,  I  do  not  consider  that  Betty  Barlow  is 


216  BRITOMART, 

bereft  of  her  senses  by  any  means.  She  is  very 
bright  for  one  of  her  years,  very  bright  indeed. 
I  wish  it  were  possible  for  her  to  get  down  stairs 
and  see  more  visitors.  I  think  it  would  be  bene 
ficial.  One  is  apt  to  become  gloomy,  shut  up 
always  in  two  rooms.  Don't  you  think  it  could 
be  managed,  grandma?" 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  and  you  know  it," 
said  Mrs.  Jeffries. 

"Of  course  she  is,"  assented  Mrs.  Enderby. 

"I  am  not  talking  nonsense.  I  enjoy  my 
grandmother's  society  very  much,  and  I  take  it 
for  granted  others  would ;  I  know  they  would." 

Theodore  maintained  a  sulky  silence.  He 
feared  it  would  be  his  turn  soon. 

"And  how  is  business,  Cousin  Theodore?" 

It  had  come. 

"Good,  thank  you." 

"And  the  strike  is  over." 

"Entirely." 

"And  all  the  men  back  to  work  ?" 

"All  who  deserve  to  be  back." 

"Then  there  were  some  who  did  not  deserve 
to  be  taken  back?" 

"Yes." 

"How  many?" 

"Oh,  about  four  hundred." 

"Which  means  you  did  not  take  back  many  of 
your  old  men." 

"I  said  those  who  deserved  it." 

"I  wish  I  owned  a  big  factory;  I  do  so  like 
the  feel  of  power.  It  must  be  splendid  to  know 


THE  SOCIALIST.  217 

that  by  a  wave  of  your  hand  men  must  lie  idle 
and  women  starve." 

"'My  dear  little  cousin,  you  are  talking  about 
something  you  know  nothing  of.  I  fear  you  are 
associating  too  much  with  the  discontents  of  the 
working  classes  for  your  own  good.  It  is  well 
enough  to  be  charitable,  but  do  not  take  your 
proteges  to  your  arms  with  quite  so  much  fer 
vor?" 

"Of  whom  do  you  speak — Betty  Barlow?  She 
is  the  only  discontented  working  individual  with 
whom  I  am  in  the  habit  of  associating,  and  she, 
although  hard  working,  is  not  so  discontented 
either,  unless  she  is  made  to  wait  for  paste ;  then 
she  gets  impatient.  'With  their  jim-cracks  and 
their  fol-de-rols,'  "  she  added  in  a  reminiscent 
chuckle.  "Yes,  I  do  wish  I  owned  a  factory." 

"Very  well;  let  me  present  you  with  mine." 

"Thanks.  You  mean  with  Betty  Barlow's. 
But  that  is  only  a  question  of  time,  I  presume. 
Then  you  really  give  it  to  me?  But  do  you 
think  that  I,  being  a  woman,  can  oversee  the 
business  as  I  ought?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Very  well,  then,  the  first  move  I  shall  make 
will  be  to  reinstall  Paul  Landor.  I  will  give 
him  a  foreman's  place,  if  you  please." 

Theodore  rose  with  a  jerk. 

"That's  the  most  pestilential  fellow  a  man  was 
ever  cursed  by  employing.  Damn  him  !  I  could* 
see  him  burned  at  the  stake !  He  has  stirred  up 


218  BRITOMART, 

more  trouble  through  the  means  of  a  friend  and 
abettor  of  his  with  a  few  more  brains !" 

"Calm  yourself,  Cousin  Theodore.,  Of  course 
you  will  be  relieved  of  all  responsibility  in  re 
gard  to  him,  as  it  will  be  I  who  hire  him  as  fore 
man  in  my  factory." 

"I  should  be  willing  to  humor  you,  Clarissa, 
to  almost  any  extent;  but " 

"Not  to  anything  I  really  desire.  Yes,  that 
is  the  way  I  have  always  been  humored.  I  am 
a  spoiled  child.  I've  been  humored  that  way,  to 
everything  other  people  want,  until  I  am  really 
spoiled.  Oh,  well,  no  matter.  Then  you  abso 
lutely  refuse  to  take  the  young  man  on  as  a  fore 
man?" 

Theodore  answered  that  he  most  certainly  did. 

"I  am  very  much  interested  in  him,"  mur 
mured  Clarissa,  as  though  to  herself.  "He  is 
very  handsome." 

A  look  of  apprehension  sprang  to  Mrs.  Jef 
fries'  eyes.  She  remembered  Melton. 

"Don't  talk  silly,  Clarissa,"  she  said. 

"I  am  not  talking  silly,  auntie;  it  is  true,  he 
is  very  handsome,  with  his  manly  figure  and 
finely  chiseled  face.  His  sister  is  a  great  friend 
of  mine.  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  think  I  will 
run  upstairs  and  get  ready.  Hilda  French  is 
to  call  for  me  and  we  are  going  for  an  early- 
shopping  tour  this  morning.  This  afternoon  I 
am  to  drive  with  Lord  Kildare." 

When  the  girl  had  gone  Theodore  said  to  his 
mother:  "Why  do  you  allow  her  to  go  driving 


THE  SOCIALIST.  219 

with  Lord  Kildare  alone?  He  would  not  pro 
pose  such  a  thing  to  a  respectable  young  girl  in 
his  own  country." 

Mrs.  Jeffries  threw  out  her  hands,  palms  up 
wards.  "Let  her!  Let  her!"  she  exclaimed, 
angrily.  "I  should  like  to  see  you  prevent  her 
if  she  takes  a  notion." 

"She  will  probably  live  to  see  the  day  she  will 
be  prevented  from  doing  the  things  she  has  no 
business  to  do." 

"You  mustn't  blame  your  mother,  Theodore. 
Clarissa  has  bad  blood  in  her." 

"She  reminds  me  every  day  of  that  perverse 
old  ancester  of  hers  upstairs." 

"Yes,"  sighed  Mrs.  Enderby,  "she's  like 
mother  in  a  good  many  ways." 

"I  wish  to  goodness,  Theodore,  if  you  intend 
marrying  the  girl,  you  would  do  so  soon,  and 
take  her  off  my  hands." 

Theodore  paced  gloomily  up  and  down  the 
floor.  "She  may  not  be  willing  to  marry  me. 
Who  can  say?  She  certainly  bears  me  no  par 
ticular  love,  or  she  would  not  embrace  every 
opportunity  to  exasperate  me." 

"She  is  not  in  the  dark  with  regard  to  your 
intentions,"  said  Mrs.  Jeffries." 

"She  isn't?  By  Jove!  she's  more  enlightened 
than  I  am,  then,  for  I'm  sure  I'm  frightfully  in 
the  dark  regarding  them,"  and  Theodore  laughed 
at  his  joke.  "And  that's  the  solemn  truth,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  down  the  steps  a  few 
moments  later.  "I  don't  know  what  I  want; 


220  BRITOMART, 

whether  Clarissa  and  all  my  grandmother's 
money,  or  Hilda — dear  little  Hilda — and  half  the 
fortune." 

When  he  returned  to  lunch,  however,  his 
mother  met  him  with  a  grave  face.  Mrs.  En- 
derby  had  suffered  one  of  her  attacks  during  the 
forenoon,  and  was  even  then  gasping  for  breath 
on  her  bed  in  her  own  room. 

"I  tell  you,  Theodore,  mother  is  not  long  for" 
this  world,  and  Grandma  Barlow  bids  fair  to 
outlive  us  all.  The  sooner  things  are  settled 
between  you  and  Clarissa  the  better.  It!s  going 
to  be  a  necessity,  I  can  see,  poor  fellow." 

It  was  hard.  That  very  morning  he  had  met 
Hilda  on  the  street,  and  looking  down  into  her 
blue  eyes  had  almost  decided  to  be  content  with 
a  million  and  marry  the  woman  he  loved. 
But  two  hours  in  the  office  at  the  works,  and 
this  announcement  of  his  grandmother's  illness 
had  their  effect,  and  he  promised  his  mother  that 
he  would  formally  ask  his  cousin's  hand  in  mar 
riage  before  the  day  ended.  A  fortune  cut  in 
two  was  almost  worse  than  no  fortune  in  the 
present  crisis.  To  divide  the  fortune  meant  to 
weaken  its  power. 

His  mother  left  the  room  to  send  Clarissa  to 
him.  He  dreaded  this  interview.  He  was  al 
most  certain  Clarissa  would  be  contumacious, 
that  she  would  have  to  be  coaxed  or  dragged 
into  the  engagement.  They  were  always  wran 
gling.  He  started  when  she  entered,  then  came 
forward  in  a  trepidation  which  was  quite  lover- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  221 

like.    He  stated  his  case  with  as  much  grace  as 
possible  under  the  circumstances. 

''So  you  really  wish  to  marry  me?"  she  asked, 
while  her  hand  lay  listlessly  in  his,  and  her  eyes 
searched  his  face  curiously.  She  had  often  won 
dered  how  Theodore  would  act  if  it  ever  became 
a  necessity  for  him  to  propose  marriage  to  her. 
He  could  not  tell  her  he  adored  her  and  could 
not  live  without  her.  He  could  not  repeat  any 
of  the  beautiful,  thrilling  untruths  with  which 
men  woo  their  sweethearts.  That  would  be  too 
ridiculous,  considering  that  they  had  always  lived 
under  the  same  roof  and  been  thoroughly  an 
tagonistic  since  their  childhood.  "And  you  are 
marrying  me  because  you  love  me,  and  cannot 
bear  to  live  without  me,  are  you  not,  Theodore?" 

"Of  course,  dear." 

"And  you  would  sacrifice  your  life  or  fortune 
rather  than  lose  me?  Come,  say  it,  Cousin 
Theodore !" 

He  had  thought  it  would  be  like  this.  Any 
man  who  expected  to  marry  or  bury  Clarissa 
with  any  degree  of  comfort  would  be  disap 
pointed. 

"Why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?" 

"A  man  doesn't  ask  a  woman  to  marry  him 
without  reasons  for  doing  so,"  he  answered 
sulkily.  He  wished  to  have  the  scene  over.  He 
had  meant  to  be  decent  and  conventional  about 
it ;  that  is,  as  much  so  as  one  could  be  with 
Clarissa. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  murmured  Clarissa;  "and  this 


222  BRITOMART, 

love  which  makes  the  world  go  round  Is  such  a 
mystery.  Of  course,  among  the  lower  classes 
love  is  not  the  sentiment  which  leads  people  to 
marry.  It  is  a  less  holy  passion;  and  many 
times  worldly  matters  influence  them.  Many  a 
poor  girl  marries  for  the  sake  of  a  home  and  to 
be  supported.  But  among  the  wealthy  such 
restrictions  need  not  be,  and  heart  calls  to  heart 
across  a  world.  There  is  no  excuse  for  uncon 
genial  marriages  among  the  rich." 

He  was  becoming  impatient.  "What  is  the 
use  of  this  foolishness?  I  have  asked  you  to 
marry  me,  and  I  want  a  straightforward  answer, 
yes  or  no!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  cousin,  then  it  is  a  business 
transaction,  pure  and  simple,  is  it  ?  Why  didn't 
you  say  so  at  once,  and  not  lead  me  into  a  maze 
of  maidenly  conjectures  by  taking  my  hand  as 
you  did  a  few  moments  ago  and  saying,  Clarissa, 
I  love  you ;  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  Approach  me 
honestly,  cousin,  and  you  can  do  anything  with 
me.  Don't  let  us  try  to  reason  from  false  prem 
ises.  Let  us  look  matters  squarely  in  the  face. 
There  is  no  love  in  the  case.  There  is  no  ques 
tion  of  future  happiness.  Our  marriage  is  a 
necessity  in  order  to  keep  the  Barlow  fortune 
intact." ' 

He  was  angrily  silent. 

"On  account  of  this  money  two  p'eople  who 
dislike  each  other,  must  live  together,  perhaps 
become  the  parents  of  children." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  223 

He  attempted  to  speak,  but  she  would  not  let 
him. 

"I  don't  say  this  isn't  right,  mind  you ;  it  must 
be,  so  many  of  our  best  people  do  it ;  but  don't 
you  think  there  are  other  ways,  no  less  criminal, 
to  compass  the  desired  end,  if  society  could  only 
be  brought  to  consider  them  with  the  same  de 
gree  of  leniency?  For  instance,  if  Betty  Barlow 
should  die  now,  the  money  would  come  naturally 
into  Grandma  Enderby's  hands;  then  to  Aunt 
Inez,  and  then  to  you,  thereby  relieving  you  of 
the  fearful  necessity  of  marrying  me.  Now, 
why  not  kill  Grandma  Barlow?  How  it  would 
simplify  matters  !  and  the  crime  would,  in  reality, 
be  very  much  less;  that  is,  provided  it  were  as 
heartily  sanctioned  by  society — just  the  destruc 
tion  of  a  poor  old  leathery  body,  allowing  the 
youth-renewed  soul  to  go  free." 

Theodore's  patience,  never  at  its  best  with 
Clarissa,  had  reached  the  limit. 

"I  could  wish,  Clarissa,  that  you  were  a  more 
natural  girl,  that  you  loved  feminine  pursuits  and 
suitable  occupations  rather  than  indulging  in 
speculations  with  which  young  women  have  no 
right  to  addle  their  brains." 

"I  know  it,  Theodore.  I  often  feel  these  rea 
soning  powers  of  mine  a  great  hindrance  to  hap 
piness  in  the  sphere  in  which  Providence  has 
been  pleased  to  place  me." 

"You  are  in  one  of  your  disagreeable  moods 
at  present,  and  I  shall  not  discuss  the  matter 
any  longer  today;  but  I  advise  you,  Clarissa,  to 


2J4  BRITOMART, 

think  it  over  and  decide  to  give  a  sensible  an 
swer.  The  arrangement  I  propose  will  be  as 
advantageous  for  you  as  for  me.  You  must 
surely  see  that." 

"O,  I  do,  certainly,  Theodore,  and  I  accept 
your  proposal  with  one  condition." 

Theodore  showed  his  astonishment.  "You 
accept,  Clarissa,  and  will  be  my  wife  ?" 

"Yes,  on  condition  that  our  engagement  is 
kept  secret  for  six  months." 

Theodore  was  only  too  happy.  He  made  a 
movement  to  take  her  hand. 

"A  betrothal  kiss  ?"  asked  Clarissa.  "Not  at 
present.  Wait  until  our  engagement  is  an^ 
nounced." 

In  the  afternoon  Clarissa  went  to  drive  with 
Lord  Kildare.  This  drive  was  very  interesting 
because  both  the  gentleman  and  lady  had  gone 
with  a  purpose.  Kildare  was  in  America  to 
capture  an  American  fortune  with,  of  course,  an 
American  wife  as  an  unavoidable  adjunct.  He 
had  been  hovering  about  the  Jeffries'  for  some 
time.  He  knew  there  was  a  tangle  of  grand 
mothers  between  the  girl  and  the  fortune,  but 
just  how  much  of  a  tangle  he  had  as  yet  been 
unable  to  discover.  In  case  of  the  wrong  com 
bination  of  circumstances  he  had  not,  until  very 
lately,  been  able  to  find  out  where  the  girl  would 
stand  in  relation  to  the  fortune.  During  his 
investigations  he  had  beco~me  enamored  of  the 
girl,  and  craved  not  only  her  money  but  herself. 
The  same  day  he  took  her  to  drive  he  had  sue- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  225 

ceeded  in  possessing  himself  of  the  facts  about 
the  grandmothers ;  that  in  case  the  great-grand 
mother  outlived  the  grandmother  the  girl  came 
in  for  one-half  the  fortune ;  that  the  grandmother 
was  in  extremely  poor  health;  that  on  account 
of  this  fact  Theodore  was  anxious  to  keep  the 
money  together  by  marrying  his  cousin.  This 
decided  him  to  put  his  fate  to  the  test  at  once 
in  a  good  American  way  by  taking  the  girl  out 
and  proposing  to  her  before  indulging  in  the 
polite  preliminaries  of  asking  her  grandmothers' 
and  aunt's  consent  to  address  her.  His  lordship 
was  going  to  ask  Clarissa  Barlow  to  marry  him, 
and  that  was  his  purpose  in  taking  her  to  drive, 
and  Clarissa  Barlow  (ambitious  American  to  the 
backbone)  was  going  to  accept  him,  and  that  was 
her  reason  for  going  to  drive  with  him ;  and  she 
did  so,  receiving  his  protestations  of  fervent  love 
with  great  complacency. 

"By  George !  one  would  have  thought  her  a 
duchess  in  her  own  right,  and  I  her  serving- 
man  !"  murmured  his  lordship,  as  he  drove  away 
after  setting  the  young  woman  down  at  her  own 
door. 

"I  have  always  wanted  to  be  engaged  to  one 
of  the  English  aristocracy,  and  now  that  desire 
is  realized,"  said  Clarissa  to  herself,  as  she  en 
tered  the  drawingroom,  still  in  her  wraps.  "Of 
course  I  have  sworn  him  to  secrecy  for  a  few- 
weeks,  during  which  I  mean  to  bring  him  to  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  responsibilities  involved  in 
being  engaged  to  an  American  heiress.  I  long 


226  BRITOMART, 

to  get  a  better  insight  into  this  international 
question  of  wealthy  feminine  America  throwing 
itself  into  the  arms  of  profligate,  impecunious 
Europe.  My  wish  has  been  granted.  It  will  be 
a  fine  study.  Ugh !  What  an  odious  mustache 
— like  a  shoe-brush ;  and  what  a  neck !  So  skinny 
and  old  !  Why,  the  man  must  be  fifty  if  a  day. 

"Dear  me,  how  you  startled  me !  You,  Mr. 
Hawkins  ?  To  see  Aunt  Inez,  I  presume ;  and 
she,  I  know,  is  out.  This  is  her  lesson  day, 
you  should  remember.  However,  don't  go.  I 
will  run  and  put  my  wraps  away  and  make  you 
some  tea." 

She  was  gone  like  a  flash,  leaving  Hawkins 
in  a  pleasurable  maze.  He  was  not  used  to  such 
cordiality  from  this  young  person ;  in  fact,  there1 
had  been  times  when  her  indifference  approached 
rudeness,  and  her  drawling,  silky  sarcasm  down 
right  insult.  But  here  she  was,  bright,  luscious, 
youthful,  making  eyes  at  him  and  tea  for  him. 
And  the  young  lady,  utterly  soulless  and  con 
scienceless,  busying  herself  with -the  tea-caddy 
and  cups,  was  saying  to  herself,  "I  wonder  if  I 
can?  It  would  be  something  to  brag  of  to  my 
grandchildren.  Now  that  I  have  my  hand  in  it 
might  not  be  difficult."  She  meant  to  incite 
Aunt  Inez's  lover  to  propose  marriage  to  her. 
She  wanted  to  make  a  triple  triumph  of  her  day. 
Hawkins,  man  of  the  world  though  he  was,  was 
not  proof  against  the  blandishments  of  this  dark 
little  girl.  His  common-sense  should  have 
warned  him,  but  it  slept  while  his  cupidity  and 


THE  SOCIALIST.  227 

sensualism  exposed  him  ,an  easy  victim  to  Miss 
Barlow's  experiments.  When,  an  hour  later,  he 
wavered  out  into  the  sunshine,  dazzled,  upset, 
infatuated,  he  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  the 
niece  instead  of  the  aunt. 

"It  is  time  for  me  to  settle  down,"  he  reflected. 
"I  have  seen  all  there  is  to  see  in  this  world,  and 
although  a  wife  is  a  nuisance,  still  Clarissa  is  a 
tidy  bit  of  furniture,  with  the  very  dot,  for  which 
I  have  been  courting  the  old  woman.  By  Jove, 
Chauncey  Hawkins,  you  are  a  lucky  dog !" 

Britomart  arrived  at  the  Jeffries'  mansion  at 
the  appointed  time,  and  found  Clarissa  seated 
on  a  low  stool  in  the  drawing  room,  her  hands 
clasped  about  her  knees,  gazing  at  an  uncleared 
tea-table  whereon  the  dishes  spoke  of  the  recent 
refreshment  of  two  people. 

"Excuse  the  untidiness,  Britomart,  but  I 
wanted  to  sit  and  think  unmolested  by  servants 
for  awhile.  When  a  girl  has  just  become  en 
gaged  she  must  have  at  least  a  few  moments  in 
which  to  dream,  utterly  alone.  Oh,  no,  I  want 
you.  I've  finished  my  reflections  now,  and  the 
next  requisite  is  a  girl  friend  to  act  as  confidant 
and  hear  your  happiness.  Yes,  I  should  rush 
into  your  arms,  cry  a  little,  and  confide  the 
delicious  secret  to  your  keeping.  I  can't  cry, 
but  I  could  indulge  in  a  good  hearty  laugh. 
Who  is  the  man?  Chauncey  Hawkins.  You  re 
member  that  dear  old  fellow  of  sixty,  who 
dresses  like  a  student  of  twenty.  He  is  a  man 
of  fashion  who  has  led  a  vile  life.  Of  late  years 


228  BRITOMART, 

his  business  ventures  have  not  been  prosperous, 
yet  he  sees  nothing  incongruous  in  marrying  a 
young  girl  who  has  been  respectable,  with  some 
claim  to  good  looks,  and  the  prospects  of  a  for 
tune  in  her  own  right.  Neither  would  my  peo 
ple  see  any  reason  against  my  marrying  him  if 
he  were  worth  a  million  or  so.  Even  without 
that,  the  fact  that  he  is  admitted  into  good  so 
ciety  and  knows  the  ways  of  the  world  makes 
him  desirable.  Aunt  Inez  wants  him  herself." 

"Clarissa!"  gasped  Britomart,  who  seldom 
called  her  pupil  by  her  first  name,  "you  have  not 
engaged  yourself  to  such  a  man?" 

"Oh,  but  I  have,  and  worse  still,  to  two  others 
— all  today.  I  never  do  things  by  the  halves. 
Yes,  my  cousin  Theodore  and  dear  Lord  Kil- 
dare.  Ugh!  How  I  dislike  that  man's  mus 
tache  !" 

Britomart  was  not  going  to  humor  the  young 
lady  by  scolding  her  or  appearing  astonished. 
She  had  an  idea  that  was  what  Clarissa  was  play 
ing  for. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked,  sit 
ting  down  and  removing  her  hat,  but  still  holding 
it  in  her  lap. 

"Goodness  knows,"  smiled  Clarissa,  "unless 
some  clause  can  be  inserted  in  Chicago  marriage 
laws  allowing  me  to  keep  my  promise  to  them 
all.  Was  ever  a  girl  so  honored?  They  all 
want  me  on  account  of  the  money." 

Britomart  made  no  reply,  and  Clarissa  fell  into 
smiling  silence.  The  little  clock  on  the  mantel 


THE  SOCIALIST.  229 

ticked  audibly  and  the  fire  snapped  in  the  grate. 
Clarissa's  gurgling  laugh  broke  the  silence. 

"I've  just  thought  how  it  can  be  arranged. 
Lord  Kildare  marry  Betty  Barlow  (there 
wouldn't  be  much  disparity  in  their  ages), 
Chauncey  Hawkins  marry  Aunt  Inez,  and  I'll 
marry  Cousin  Theodore.  This  would  divide  the 
spoils — we  would  all  get  a  slice  of  the  fortune 
and  everybody  would  be  happy,  except,  of 
course,  Theodore." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Britomart's  duties  were  manifold  during  this 
period  of  her  career.  For  instance,  one  morn 
ing  she  awoke  to  the  consciousness  that  she 
must  prepare  three  meals,  give  four  music  les 
sons,  and,  under  Blair's  direction,  address  a 
labor  meeting  in  the  evening.  It  was  not  her 
first  appearance  in  this  role  by  any  means.  Blair 
had  been  quick  to  see  the  possibilities  of  success 
in  this  splendid  young  woman.  He  noted  the 
respectful  admiration  which  was  accorded  the 
girl  by  the  laboring  men  to  whom  she  spoke. 
Dissolute  as  some  of  them  were,  unused  to  con 
tact  with  any  save  the  lowest  of  womankind,  they 
still  recognized  and  applauded  the  spirit  of  earn 
est  womanliness  in  which  she  addressed  them. 
They  came  to  the  meetings  first  because  a 
woman,  who  was  young  and  pretty,  was  going 
to  do  something  unusual.  They  came  afterward 
to  listen  to  the  gospel  of  Socialism.  It  was  the 
sober,  conservative  class  of  men  who  suffered, 
yet  refused  to  listen  to  disrespectful  allusions 
to  the  wage  system  because  that  inferred  disre 
spect  to  their  employers;  who  dumbly  followed 
where  they  were  led  and  believed  a  vote  honestly 
cast  with  their  own  party,  irrespective  of  princi 
ples,  would  help  right  their  wrongs ;  who 
believed  this  stress  was  but  temporary  and  would 
pass  again  as  days  of  stress  had  passed  in  years 


THE  SOCIALIST.  231 

gone  by;  men  who  were  too  much  exhausted  at 
night  to  read  more  than  a  meager  page  of 
abusive  editorials  in  their  party  paper,  full  of 
satisfying  epithets  against  the  opposing  polit 
ical  faction,  and  who  consequently  missed 
the  new  ideas  which  were  filling  the  world.  It 
was  to  this  class  in  the  cities  Blair  intended 
Britomart  to  appeal ;  and  in  the  country  to  staid 
old  farmers,  who  were  only  just  beginning  to 
ask  indignant  questions  of  society.  To  these 
men  especially,  Britomart,  herself  a  farmer's 
daughter,  and  as  surely  a  victim  as  any  toiler 
in  a  sweat-shop,  stood  before  them  in  her  youth 
and  beauty  and  said :  "We,  the  working  people 
of  America,  have  reached  the  limit  of  endurance. 
We,  in  our  intelligence,  in  our  independence, 
refuse-to  suffer  in  ignorance  of  the  cause  of  our 
suffering  as  the  peoples  of  the  old  world  have 
done  before.  We  declare  wrar  against  our  ty 
rants.  We  already  know  the  reason  for  our 
poverty.  We  know  that  this  beautiful  land  of 
forests,  wheatfields,  and  mines  of  precious  met 
als,  which  should  be  ours — the  nation's — is 
owned  by  less  than  a  score  of  men.  We  no 
longer  deny  this  as  we  did  twenty  years  ago, 
because  it  has  become  so  plain  that  he  who  runs 
may  read.  We  have  not  that  spirit  of  resigna 
tion  bred  and  nurtured  in  the  old  countries  and 
voiced  in  the  Episcopal  catechism;  namely,  'To 
be  content  in  that  station  of  life  to  which  God 
has  pleased  to  call  us.'  God  did  not  arrange  this 
system.  In  the  old  days  we  fled  from  too  much 


232  BRITOMART, 

government,  and  for  a  time  our  religion  of  the 
less  government  the  better,  was  sufficient;  but, 
alas !  we  have  outgrown  it.  Do  not  accuse  me 
of  lack  of  patriotism  when  I  say  our  republic 
is  becoming  a  failure.  I  say  it  in  sorrow  and 
shame,  yet  I  say  it.  And  you,  if  you  will,  can 
prove  it  for  yourselves.  We  are  no  longer  a 
republic,  but  an  oligarchy.  We  are  not  alone  in 
our  misery.  Every  government  in  the  old  world 
is  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  its  bondholders. 
But  we,  young,  proud,  holding  the  remedy  in 
our  own  hands — shall  we  prove  our  servility  by 
enduring  it  ?  Never  think  it !  Never  believe  it ! 
America  is  today  in  the  rear  in  this  matter,  but 
the  giant  is  awakening,  and  before  another  dec 
ade  has  passed  will  stride  to  the  front  with  the 
feet  of  light,  the  first  to  break  the  golden  chains 
and  enfranchise  the  peoples  of  the  world,  for 
where  we  lead  the  world  shall  follow.  But  first 
we  must  know!  We  must  know!  This  is  why 
I  stand  before  you.  This  I  implore  you  to  do. 
Study  the  problem.  Do  not  thrust  it  from  you 
and  say,  'Let  reformers  rant;  they  have  always 
agitated,  and  it  has  come  to  nothing,'  It  is  your 
problem;  which  way  do  you  intend  to  solve  it? 
By  your  intelligent  ballots,  gaining  a  bloodless 
victory,  not  suddenly  but  surely ;  or  will  you  let 
the  sore  fester  until  it  bursts  in  blood  and  flame 
as  did  that  plague-spot  of  France  a  hundred 
years  ago ! 

"I  need  not  stand  here  to  tell  you  that  you 
suffer  injustice;  you  know  that,  but  you  differ 


THE  SOCIALIST.  233 

as  to  the  remedy.  We,  I  and  my  fellow-workers, 
believe  there  is  but  one  remedy — Socialism.  The 
word  startles  you,  and  you  feebly  cling  to  the 
more  familiar  'Democracy,'  which  has  become 
unreal  and  false.  You  stretch  out  your  hand 
to  grasp  that  of  Democracy,  but  the  fiend  Plu 
tocracy  interposes  its  own  and,  as  yet,  you  have 
not  discovered  the  substitution.  When  you  do, 
how  quick  and  complete  will  be  the  revolution. 
Do  you  not  realize  that  this  idea  is  the  para 
mount  one  of  the  day  ?  Already  we  have  Social 
ism  in  our  public  schools,  postal  service,  state 
hospitals,  asylums,  colleges,  labor  bureaus,  fire 
departments,  water  supplies,  electric  plants,  and 
hundreds  of  other  institutions ;  and  wherever 
Socialism  lays  its  healing  hand  there  you  find 
justice  and  order.  Whenever  a  monopoly  be 
comes  a  natural  monopoly,  let  the  nation  grasp 
it  for  the  nation's  good.  Let  the  mines,  rail 
roads,  telegraphs,  and  later,  land — the  earth — 
belong  to  the  people. 

"The  fortune  of  a  Jay  Gould  or  a  Rockefeller 
is  like  a  tumor  on  the  body  of  a  state.  Men 
say,  'How  great  it  is !  How  we  are  developing !' 
But  they  forget  the  emaciation  of  other  parts, 
the  deadly  illness,  the  strength  of  the  body  social 
being  sapped  to  maintain  the  unnatural  excres 
cence.  To  this  disease  the  glittering  knife  of 
Socialism  will  be  applied  and  the  tonic  of  justice 
so  tone  up  the  body  politic  that  it  will  be  im 
possible  for  other  such  strength-sapping  mon 
strosities  to  form.  But  there  is  danger,  there  is 


234  BRITOMART, 

danger,  that  this  disease  may  be  allowed  to  run 
too  long.  One  of  our  statesmen  said  in  a  letter 
to  a  western  newspaper,  'In  a  joint  stock  asso 
ciation  all  stockholders  and  all  classes  of  stock 
holders  should  have  their  full  rights ;  but  when 
ever  those  who  have  the  bulk  put  the  power  into 
the  hands  of  those  who  own  but  little,  there  is 
much  unwisdom  in  it.'  This  means  that  a  man 
without  property  should  not  be  allowed  to  vote 
at  all.  Dangerously  un-American,  but  were  you 
or  I  a  multi-millionaire,  I  doubt  if  our  innate 
Americanism  would  be  strong  enough  to  over 
come  the  selfish  wish  to  control  absolutely  what 
we  deemed  our  own,  despite  a  few  million  pau 
pers  who  believed  they  had  a  right  to  live,  just 
because  they  had  been  born,  and  to  live  in  a 
land  which  belonged  to  us.  We  do  not  hate 
Rockefeller,  but  we  do  hate  the  pernicious  sys 
tem  which  makes  his  far-reaching  though  nat 
ural  selfishness  possible.  The  sooner  we  divest 
ourselves  of  the  silly  idea  that  multi-millionaires 
are  a  benefit  to  a  country,  the  better  it  will  be 
for  us." 

Clarissa  Barlow  had  hit  upon  this  very  after 
noon  to  pay  Britomart  a  long-threatened  visit. 
Upon  learning  that  James  Barring  would  ad 
dress  an  audience  on  the  labor  question  that 
evening,  and  that  Britomart  and  Paul  were 
going  to  hear  him,  she  insisted  on  being  one  of 
the  party.  She  did  not  know  that  Britomart 
was  to  speak  also,  and  when  she  listened  to  those 
ringing  words  on  the  lips  of  her  friend,  she 


THE  SOCIALIST.  235 

caught  her  breath  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration. 
She  felt  the  stir  and  rustle  of  appreciation  all 
about  her,  the  increasing  murmurs  of  whispers 
and  smothered  ejaculations.  The  many  eyes 
always  bent  on  the  speaker  served  to  show  with 
what  power  she  held  her  audience. 

James  Barring  followed  her,  and  although 
more  logical,  more  concise  in  statement,  being  of 
more  importance  as  a  man  and  a  millionaire,  his 
words  did  not  burn  into  the  hearts  of  the  people 
as  did  those  of  the  woman.  It  was  Clarissa's 
first  experience  at  a  mass  meeting,  and  although 
she  saw  before  her  the  familiar  faces  of  Brito- 
mart  and  Barring,  it  seemed  as  though  she  had 
been  transported  into  another  world,  peopled, 
with  beings  as  different  from  those  in  her  world 
as  must  be  the  inhabitants  of  Mars  from  ours; 
yet  she,  the  heiress  of  a  million  or  more,  felt 
a.  fierce  desire  to  declare  her  kinship  to  these, 
her  brothers.  She,  by  virtue  of  the  blood  of 
Melton,  the  factory  hand,  was  nearer  by  a  gen 
eration  to  these  proletariats  than  was  Cousin 
Theodore. 

After  the  meeting  Britomart  and  Paul  walked 
home  with  her.  At  the  door  they  left  her  to  face 
alone  the  storm  which  awaited  her  in  the  draw 
ing-room.  Theodore  was  there,  white  to  the  lips 
with  anger;  Mrs.  Jeffries,  and  even  Grandma 
Enderby.  Clarissa  bade  her  friends  good-night 
and  walked  smilingly  into  the  presence,  her 
heavy  fur-bordered  cloak  trailing  from  her  grasp 
and  sweeping  the  floor  like  a  royal  mantle.  She 


236  BRITOMART, 

never  ceased  to  smile  when  Theodore  opened 
upon  her  with  all  the  scathing  invectives  his 
tongue  could  master.  That  she,  a  Barlow,  should 
hobnob  with  beggars  and  mountebanks !  She 
reminded  him  that  she  was  a  Melton.  He  took 
no  heed  of  the  interruption.  He  wished  her  to' 
understand  that  this  intimacy  must  cease  at  once. 
He,  as  her  natural  guardian,  commanded  her 
to  drop  all  intercouse  with  the  pernicious  inciter 
of  riots  who  had  crept  into  their  home  under 
the  guise  of  instructor  to  work  her  own  evil 
ends. 

"Our  erstwhile  happy  home,"  murmured  Cla 
rissa. 

Theodore's  rage  was  allowed  free  swing,  in 
terrupted  only  now  and  then  by  a  word  from  one 
or  the  other  of  the  three  women  who  formed  his 
audience.  In  the  course  of  his  accusation  he 
acknowledged  that  he  had  followed  Clarissa  first 
to  the  "den"  of  the  Landors,  and  from  there  to 
the  ill-smelling  hall  where  he  managed  to  endure 
to  the  end  of  the  most  sickening  performance 
for  the  sake  of  watching  over  the  woman  who 
had  demeaned  herself  by  attending,  but  who, 
nevertheless,  was  destined  to  be  his,  Theodore 
Jeffries',  wife ! 

"Terrible !"  sighed  Mrs.  Jeffries.  She  was 
sleepy  and  tired  and  longed  for  the  scene  to  end. 

"You  were  there  ?  And  you  heard  it  all  ?  Oh, 
Cousin  Theodore,  I  am  so  glad!"  and  Clar 
issa  clasped  her  hands  in  delight;  the^n  sub 
siding  into  a  chair,  she  leaned  her  arms  upon 


THE  SOCIALIST.  237 

its  back,  the  rich  cloak  trailing  on  the  floor 
beside  her.  "But  I  am  never  to  be  your  wife, 
Theodore — never.  I  have  this  day,"  she  con 
tinued,  dreamily,  "seen  the  man  I  shall  marry,  if 
Fate  so  wills  that  he  may  be  mine ;  if  not,  I  will 
remain  a  maid,  to  tantalize  you  and  Aunt  Inez 
forever." 

Aunt  Inez  smothered  an  exclamation  of  dis 
may.  Grandma  Enderby  groaned. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  this  is  your  ultimate 
decision?"  asked  Theodore,  his  lips  compressed 
in  anger,  yet  with  a  feeling  of  relief  in  his  heart. 

"It  is." 

"Then  the  gossip  about  Kildare  is  true?" 

"Kildare?"  asked  Clarissa,  absently. 

"I  was  told  that  he  boasted  of  his  engagement 
to  you." 

Clarissa  made  a  ticking  sound  with  her  lips 
indicative  of  disapproval. 

"Foolish  man!  I  swore  him  to. secrecy.  But 
it  doesn't  matter.  Ask  me  no  more  questions ; 
at  present  I  can  only  repeat,  I  have,  this  day, 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  shall  be 
my  husband,  else  no  man  ever  shall  be.  Let  that 
suffice.  And  now  I  want  to  see  Betty  Barlow 
and  then  go  to  bed." 

Clarissa  left  the  room,  and  Theodore  contin 
ued  to  pace  up  and  down  in  stormy  silence.  His 
mother  yawned  behind  her  hand,  and  gently  sug 
gested  the  desirability,  now  that  the  interview 
was  at  an  end,  of  retiring. 

"This  is  the  work  of  Barring  and  his  kind!" 


238  BR1TOMART, 

said  Theodore.  "I  can  conceive  a  reason  for 
those  poverty-ridden  louts  spouting  their  un- 
rightable  wrongs,  but  when  such  men  as  Bar 
ring  stoop  to  proclaim  their  insanity  in  such 
places,  I  can  but  wonder  what  the  world  is  com 
ing  to." 

'''Barring  knows  what  he  is  about,"  sneered 
Mrs.  Jeffries.  "He  is  likely  to  get  to  Congress 
through  his  efforts  to  succor  the  laboring  man, 
and  that  is  all  he  cares  for." 

"But  why  need  he  make  himself  so  conspicu 
ous?  There  he  was  tonight,  spouting  of  syn 
dicates  and  trusts,  and  wrongs  which  would  soon 
be  righted,  and  a  universal  brotherhood  of  man. 
Bosh!  It  was  sickening!" 

"Did  James  Barring  speak  tonight  ?  That  is 
a  key  to  the  mystery,  then.  James  Barring, 
mark  my  words,  Theodore,  is  the  man  Clarissa 
is  in  love  with  and  means  to  catch  if  she  can." 

Theodore  stopped  short.  "Do  you  believe 
that?" 

"I  do.  She  certainly  meant  what  she  said 
tonight,  that  she  had  looked  into  the  eyes  of 
the  man  whom  she  would  marry  if  she  could. 
She  has  not  to  my  knowledge  seen  Kildare  today 
and  she  has  dismissed  you.  Whom  else  could  it 
be?" 

Theodore  laughed.  "If  this  should  happen, 
Barring  the  Socialist  would  be  closely  concerned 
with  the  great  Barlow  manufacturing  plant.  I 
wonder  what  he  would  say  then  to  his  agitators 
and  laborers?  It  would  not  be  a  bad  arrange- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  239 

ment.  He  has  a  splendid  fortune  of  his  own, 
and  Heaven  knows,  we  would  all  be  glad  to  get 
rid  of  Clarissa  in  any  respectable  manner.  My 
marriage  with  her,  it  seems,  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion." 

Britomart,  woman-like,  went  home  with  her 
heart  full,  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  with  fervor 
for  the  cause  for  which  she  had  spoken,  bat  of 
the  image  of  one  face,  one  smooth,  manly  face, 
lit  by  narrow  gleaming  eyes.  Was  this  friend 
ship?  He  was  Clarissa's  lover.  Was  this  pa 
triotism?  She  was  letting  admiration  for  the 
man  overshadow  her  feeling  for  the  reformer. 
Ah,  the  dreariness  of  everything,  the  bitterness 
of  this  grinding  poverty;  the  constant  fear  for 
Paul ;  the  vagueness  of  the  cause  for  which  she 
was  pledged  to  spend  her  life.  It  seemed  very 
hopeless  that  night. 

The  following  day  she  received  a  letter  from 
her  mother  full  of  longing  to  see  her  girl.  She 
was  not  well,  and  the  sight  of  Britomart's  face 
would  be  like  medicine  to  her.  Britomart  de 
cided  at  once  that  she  could  not  go.  Her  lesson 
engagements,  her  Socialistic  work,  and  more 
than  all  her  constant,  watchful  care  over  Paul, 
forbade  her  absence  from  the  city.  Then  she 
met  Blair,  and,  as  was  her  habit,  laid  the  trouble 
before  him. 

"Go,"  he  said.  "You  owe  a  duty  to  others 
beside  your  brother.  I  will  take  care  of  him. 
I  think  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  set  him  at  work 
soon,  and  when  Paul  is  at  work  no  one  is 'better 


240  BR1TOMART, 

able  to  take  care  of  himself;  but  Paul  idle  is  a 
dangerous  fellow — growing  more  so  every  day. 
And  ah !  Miss  Landor,  the  poor  boys  who  crowd 
this  city  who  are  counterparts  of  Paul,  with  no 
friend  nor  sister  able  to  help  them,  and  the  num 
ber  is  increasing  every  day."  Then  he  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  her  news — good  news.  The  So 
cialists  were  to  have  an  organ  of  their  own  there 
in  Chicago.  James  Barring  was  to  be  its  finan 
cial  sponsor,  and  he,  Blair,  its  editor-in-chief. 
It  would  rest  on  the  basis  of  James  Barring's 
millions,  and  would  carry  the  political  news,  un 
biased  by  party  politics,  into  the  homes  of  thou 
sands  of  laboring  men.  Blair  believed  every 
thing  for  its  future.  He  believed  he  could,  in 
time,  make  it  self-supporting,  but  whether  that 
ever  came  to  pass  or  not,  it  was  to  be  tried  at 
Barring's  expense. 

"And  as  I  deal  with  the  minds  of  the  people 
through  that  sheet,  may  God  so  deal  with  me," 
added  Blair,  solemnly.  "Barring  is  a  grand 
man.  He  is  going  to  Congress  next  spring  just 
as  sure  as  the  world  stands,  and  that  means  a 
strong  voice  in  a  high  place  for  our  cause." 

Britomart  made  the  preparations  for  her  jour 
ney  in  a  happier  mood  in  consequence  of  her 
conversation  with  Blair.  In  some  way  the  prox 
imity  of  the  man  put  hope  in  one,  and  a  desire 
to  work.  She  did  not  know  of  the  decree  of 
banishment  against  her  which  the  master  of  the 
Jeffries  mansion  had  issued,  but  she  wrote  a  little 
note  tb  Clarissa  asking  to  be  excused  from  her 


THE  SOCIALIST.  241 

lessons  for  a  month,  and  announcing  that  she 
must  cancel  her  musicale  dates,  as  she  was  going 
to  visit  her  sick  mother  the  next  day. 

That  night  Blair  came  to  tea  with  the  Lan- 
dors,  and  just  as  they  were  about  to  take  their 
places  at  the  table,  Clarissa  arrived,  escorted  by 
James  Barring.  Britomart  was  embarrassed 
and  showed  it,  but  forgot  it  presently  in  laughing 
at  Clarissa,  who  declared  that  although  she  had 
been  to  tea,  she  was  simply  starving  for  those 
cunning  little  biscuits,  and  couldn't  Britomart 
lay  a  couple  more  plates  and  make  room  for  Mr. 
Barring  and  herself? 

Britomart  long  remembered  that  evening. 
The  men  talked  earnestly  and  without  reserve  of 
the  coming  newspaper,  which  was  to  be  a  first- 
class  daily,  devoted  to  the  betterment  of  existing 
conditions. 

"The  success  of  the  cause  for  which  you  and 
I  pray  is  assured,  Miss  Landor,"  said  Barring. 
'"On  the  shoulders  of  existing  political  parties 
we  shall  ride  to  victory.  First  one  side  makes 
us  a  concession,  then  the  other,  not  to  be  out 
done  in  currying  favor  with  the  labor  vote,  bet 
ters  it,  and  thus  right  shall  win  even  as  it  is 
winning  in  England." 

Clarissa  whispered  an  account  of  the  family's 
rage  on  her  return  from  the  people's  meeting, 
and  told  Britomart,  without  reserve,  of  Theo 
dore's  denouncement. 

"That  ends  my  giving  you  lessons,  then."  said 
Britomart  with  a  sigh,  "for  I  certainly  shall  enter 


242  BRITOMART, 

the  doors  of  no  man  who  has  requested  me  to 
keep  without." 

"They  are  no  more  his  doors  than  mine,  for 
that  matter,"  said  Clarissa.  "I  shall  continue  my 
lessons  with  you,  but  I  promise  to  come  here; 
I  also  promise  that  before  six  months  are  gone 
you  shall  receive  an  invitation  from  Theodore 
himself  to  darken  our  doors  once  more." 

It  was  a  jolly  evening.  The  arch  plotters 
passed  the  close  of  it  in  light  talk  and  laughter, 
making  merry,  as  a  company  of  young  optimists 
necessarily  would.  After  the  "little  biscuits" 
were  disposed  of  the  men  smoked  around  the 
cook  stove,  "just  like  a  lot  of  peasants,"  Clarissa 
said,  while  she  helped  Britomart  wash  the  sup 
per  dishes.  So  it  happened  that,  owing  to  this 
evening  visit,  Britomart  started  for  home  in  a 
buoyant  mood  the  next  morning,  but  it  faded 
away  before  she  reached  her  destination. 

Frank  met  her  at  the  station  and  she  was 
struck  by  his  look  of  age  and  hopelessness. 

"How  thin  you  are!"  she  said,  pinching  his 
cheek.  "Aren't  you  well  ?  And  how  is  Bumpy 
and  Bumpy 's  ma;  and  how  is  business — tell  me 
everything." 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,  Britomart.  The 
outlook  is  very  discouraging.  We  are  an  un 
lucky  family  at  best.  Did  you  know  father  had 
put  another  mortgage  on  the  place?" 

"Yes,  and  that  more  than  anything  else  is 
undermining  mother's  health.  To  think  that  the 


THE  SOCIALIST.  243 

home  she  loves  and  for  which  she  has  worked 
so  hard  is  likely  to  be  lost  to  themj" 

"And  what  will  they  do,  Britomart,  when  it 
is  lost?  They  haven't  a  chick  nor  a  child  who 
could  give  them  a  shelter  in  their  old  age.  I, 
at  least,  could  not,  but  perhaps  you  could,  or 
Paul — there  in  the  city " 

Britomart's  eyes  blazed.  "Paul,  poor  boy, 
has  had  no  work  at  his  trade  for  months.  The 
day  has  gone  by  when  the  average  mecfianic  can 
hope  for  any  surety  of  a  living.  The  manufac 
turer  is  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  men  steady 
employment.  He  hires  them  until  his  immediate 
orders  are  filled,  then  discharges  an  army  of 
them,  knowing  well  enough  that  another  army, 
fully  as  competent,  will  be  waiting  longingly  to 
fill  their  places  whenever  he  needs  them.  In 
this  way,  of  course,  the  curse  of  dull  times  falls 
on  the  laborer  instead  of  the  manufacturer." 

Frank  sighed,  and  in  that  sigh  Britomart  read 
all  the  tragedy  of  broken  hopes.  They  walked 
on  in  silence  for  awhile,  then  he  slackened  his 
pace  and  said,  "Wait  a  minute,  Britomart,  I  want 
to  consult  you  on  business  matters  before  we 
reach  home.  I  don't  like  to  speak  of  it  before 

poor  Mary — she  is  so  brave "  His  voice 

trembled.  "Next  week  I  shall  make  an  assign 
ment.  There  is  no  use  of  prolonging  this  misery 
further.  God  knows  I  have  tried  hard  for  Mary 
and  the  boy's  sake,  but  it  is  no  go.  It  will  not 
be  ten  years  before  small  shopkeepers  will  be 
a  thing  of  the  past.  They  suck  the  blood  out 


244  BRITOMART, 

of  us — those  big  department  vampires  of  the  city 
— they  and  bad  debts  together.  The  farmers 
have  all  they  can  do  to  keep  up  the  interest  on 
their  mortgages  without  paying  their  grocery 
bills." 

"What  shall  you  do?" 

"That  is  what  I  would  ask  you.  There  isn't 
room  for  us  back  on  the  farm.  Father  and  Wil 
liam  John  are  steadily  falling  behind.  I  thought 
I  might  go  west  and  start  in  the  grocery  business 
there ;  but,  Britomart,  as  far  as  I  can  hear,  it  is 
just  the  same  in  the  west." 

Britomart  assented  gloomily.  "Mammon  is 
king  of  the  West  and  the  East,  of  the  North 
and  the  South,  of  the  sea  and  the  plains.  Verily 
these  are  the  days  when  to  him  who  hath  shall 
be  given,  and  from  him  who  hath  not  shall  be 
taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Mary  greeted  Britomart  enthusiastically  and 
presented  Bumpy,  now  a  serious  young  man  of 
two,  with  ideas  of  his  own,  and  a  quantity  of 
tow-colored  hair  so  fine  it  was  in  the  habit  of 
knotting  up  in  hard  little  balls  at  the  back,  owing 
to  the  friction  of  the  uneasy  little  head  with  the 
pillow.  At  first  he  was  awed  by  his  handsome 
auntie,  but  before  long  was  asking  her  more 
questions  in  a  minute  than  she  could  answer  in 
a  month,  even  if  she  had  understood  them. 

"Frank,  this  child  speaks  like  a  Turk  whom  I 
saw  in  Chicago  this  spring." 

"But  he  thinks  like  an  American,"  laughed 
Frank.  "He  has  very  decided  political  views. 
He  says  his  Grandpa  Spence  is  a  'democrack,' 
but  he  wants  Santa  Claus  for  president." 

Britomart  noticed  how  thin  and  a-nxibus  Mary 
looked.  That  happy  spontaneity,  her  chief 
charm,  was  held  in  check  or  dying  out,  and  if 
she  smiled,  she  sighed  afterwards.  In  talking 
with  Britomart,  she  said,  "I  would  not  care  to 
be  rich.  I  only  ask  that  by  hard  work  and  pinch 
ing  economy  we  might  see  that  we  were  accu 
mulating  something  for  Bumpy's  education  and 
our  own  old  age ;  but  in  place  of  that,  after  two 
years'  work,  we  are  worse  off  than  when  you 
went  away;  and,  Britomart,  there  is  nothing 
else.  Farming  no  longer  pays.  Land  is  so  high* 
no  poor  man  can  purchase  and  hope  to  pay  for 


246  BRITOMART, 

his  farm  by  his  own  labor,  and  one  cannot  make 
a  living  on  a  rented  farm.  Father's  mortgage 
has  grown  steadily  and  he  must,  in  time,  lose 
his  place.  Oh !  Britomart,  this  is  a  wretched 
world,  and  you  were  right  when  you  said  Bumpy 
had  no  business  in  it !" 

"And  yet,"  declared  Britomart,  "this  country 
is  a  land  of  milk  and  honey.  There  would  be 
enough  for  us  all  if  a  small  number  were  not 
knaves  and  the  rest  all  fools.  But  the  good 
time  is  coming — coming,  Mary,  when  a  man  who 
labors  will  not  be  obliged  to  reproach  himself 
for  bringing  a  child  into  the  world,  when  his 
child,  defrauded  from  his  birth  by  the  short 
sightedness  of  bygone  law-makers  and  the  greed 
of  present  usurpers,  shall  come  to  his  own.  We 
shall,  at  least,  see  the  dawning,  Mary,  but 
Bumpy's  generation  shall  see  the  glorious  day." 

A  feeling  of  responsibility  in  the  future  of  this 
child  swept  over  Britomart,  and  she  caught  him 
up  and  hugged  him  impulsively. 

"Ouch !"  cried  Bumpy,  "my  b'ak-an'-boo 
'pot!"  and  Mary  explained  that  he  was  never 
without  them — his  black  and  blue  spots — and 
must  always  be  handled  with  care  on  account  of 
them. 

After  tea  William  John  came  to  take  Brito 
mart  home,  and  his  dear  face  was  so  full  of 
brotherly  welcome  that  Britomart  came  very 
near  crying  on  his  shoulder. 

"How  is  Paul?"  he  asked  apprehensively,  and 


THE  SOCIALIST.  247 

Britomart  answered,  "Oh,  Paul    is    all    right, 
thanks  to  Dennis  Blair." 

"And  Britomart,  I  bet,"  added  William  John. 

"I  have  done  what  I  could,"  assented  the  girl. 
"But,  William  John,  Chicago  is  full  of  Pauls ; 
good  fellows  naturally,  but  moneyless,  discour 
aged,  reckless — desperate.  Oh,  my  heart  yearns 
over  them.  May  God  in  his  goodness  hasten 
the  triumph  of  Socialism,  and  the  day  when  no 
man  tramps  the  streets  of  a  pitiless  city  looking 
in  vain  for  work." 

She  dashed  the  tears  of  unavailing  pity  from 
her  eyes.  "Don't  think  I  am  always  like  this; 
I  seldom  weep,  but  work.  There  are  other 
women  who  must  weep  who  cannot  work;  but 
I  have  any  amount  of  strength,  a  voice,  a  will, 
a  temper  fully  aroused,  and  thoughts,  thoughts — 
ever  and  always  of  the  people's  wrongs.  I  no 
longer  hesitate  for  the  best  words  in  which  to 
express  myself.  I  no  longer  tremble  when  the 
chairman  of  the  meeting  rises  and  clears  his 
throat  preparatory  to  introducing  me.  I  can 
hardly  wait  until  he  has  finished,  for  there  before 
me,  row  behind  row,  crowded  to  the  doors,  I  see 
the  faces  of  men,  some  anxious  to  hear  the 
gospel  of  Socialism  and  better  times ;  others  un 
concerned,  dull,  stolid  and  indifferent;  men 
whom  I  must  cheer,  convince  or  awaken.  They 
will  listen  to  me  because  I  am  a  woman,  and 
they,  the  workers,  are  chivalrous.  It  is  the 
American  laboring  man  who  has  been  the  first 
to  acknowledge  that  woman  has  rights  beyond 


248  BRITOMART, 

those  of  a  slave;  he  not  only  admires  but  re 
spects  her.  Then  I  begin,  and  the  truth  pours 
out  of  my  mouth  like  a  torrent.  What  need  to 
choose  my  words  ?  It  is  the  truth,  the  truth ! 
And  here  I  see  a  ripple  of  assent  and  there  I 
hear  a  rumble  of  disapproval;  then  a  wave  of 
applause  breaks  at  my  feet — not  for  me,  but  for 
that  which  I  am  saying;  by  this  time  they  have 
forgotten  me ;  then  a  ripple  of  laughter ;  and  that 
is  good,  for  when  men  laugh  they  are  in  good" 
trim  to  catch  the  infection  of  new  ideas,  and 
presently  it  is  over,  and  I  stagger  back  out  of 
sight,  exhausted,  worn,  but  happy  on  account  of 
the  roar  in  front,  and  the  look  of  satisfied  pleas 
ure  on  Blair's  face  as  he  comes  and  wraps  me 
up  and  hands  me  over  to  Paul." 

"This  is  not  all  new  to  us,"  Frank  said.  "Bid 
Leeklaw  brings  papers  now  and  then  with  your 
name  in,  and  he  is  as  proud  of  you  as  though 
you  were  his  daughter.  We  have  the  same  vis 
itors  of  a  Saturday  night  that  we  used  to  have 
when  you  were  at  home,  only  many  more ;  as 
the  customers  decrease  the  loafers  increase. 
You  knew,  of  course,  that  your  old  sweetheart, 
Henry  Miller,  is  married.  Yes,  and  as  great  a 
republican  as  ever.  I  think,  by  the  tone  of  his 
paper  that  he  has  entirely  lost  sight  of  the 
issues  of  his  party  and  knows  of  nothing 
but  the  name  republicanism.  He  deals  out  epi 
thets  promiscuously,  and  has  arrived  at  that 
point  where  the  slightest  allusion  to  politics  will 
cause  him  to  puff  up  and  swear  and  sweat  with 


THE  SOCIALIST.  249 

wrath.  Bid  Leeklaw  knows  this,  and,  backed  by 
Jake  Flatterbush  and  a  dozen  or  so  more  demo- 
populo-Socialists,  makes  life  a  burden  to  him. 
He  is  not  so  prosperous  as  of  yore.  The  hard 
times  are  having  the  same  effect  on  the  news 
paper  business  that  they  are  on  the  rest  of  us4, 
and  Henry's  'coat  the  winter  wind  will  find  quite 
thin'." 

"There  are  Socialists  in  Belleville  now?"  asked 
Britomart. 

Frank  grinned.  "My  dear,  the  woods  are  full 
of  'em,  and  augmenting  every  day ;  even  Mary's 
father  is  a  convert,  and  although  a  'democrack,' 
as  Bumpy  has  it,  still,  if -you  were  to  deliver  a 
Socialistic  harangue  in  the  hall,  Mr.  Spence,  on 
the  front  seat,  would  clap  his  hands  to  a  blister." 

"And  old  Leven?"  asked  Britomart. 

William  John  laughed,  and  Frank  declared 
that  such  men  as  old  Leven  must  be  left  to  the 
gentle  hand  of  Time  to  remove  in  order  that 
their  places  in  the  world  might  be  filled  by  rea 
soning  human  beings. 

"And  Tilly?" 

"Oh,  married,  and  of  late  a  happy  mother." 

Britomart  glanced  sidewise  at  William  John, 
imagining  she  discerned  a  twitch  of  pain  about 
his  patient  mouth. 

"And  the  magazine  girl?"  she  inquired,  laugh 
ing. 

"I've  married  her,"  answered  William  John, 
"and  although  she  isn't  much  at  housework,  she 
is  a  great  adviser." 


250  BRITOMART, 

"Good!"  cried  Britomart.  "You  will  find 
some  one  to  take  her  place,  old  fellow,  who'll  be 
worth  eight  or  ten  Tilly  Levens.  And  Brother 
Granby,  I  presume " 

There  was  a  confusion  caused  by  everybody 
talking  at  once.  "Brother  Granby  took  your 
words  to  heart  deeply.  He  is  no  fool,"  said 
Frank. 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Mary,  "and  he  is  a  Social 
ist." 

William  John  was  roaring  with  laughter. 
"That's  straight,  Britomart ;  he  preaches  it  in 
the  pulpit.  It's  like  this.  He  says  he  had  never 
thought  much  on  the  subject  until  he  came  in 
contact  with  Dennis  Blair  and  discussed  the 
questions  of  strikes,  unequal  division  of  wealth, 
and  so  on.  Your  saying  that  Christ  preached 
Socialism  shocked  then  fascinated  him.  He 
began  studying  Socialistic  books.  He  came  to 
a  realizing  sense  that  he  had  been  talking  in  the 
pulpit  about  a  subject  of  which  he  knew  not  the 
first  principles.  He  had  even  many  times  con 
nected  the  two  words  Socialism  and  anarchy. 
In  fact,  the  sensitive  old  man  became  convinced 
that  through  his  ignorance  he  had  committed  sin 
and  he  has  gone  zealously  to  work  to  atone 
for  it." 

Britomart  was  shocked  at  the  change  in  her 
mother.  She  was  so  worn  and  thin,  and  her 
hair,  which  had  been  brown  and  smooth  when 
Britomart  went  away,  was  now  strongly  tinged 
with  gray.  Britomart  went  about  the  old  home 


THE  SOCIALIST.  251 

setting  things  to  rights  in  that  strong,  efficient 
way  of  hers,  which  is  such  a  comfort  to  one  who, 
like  Mrs.  Landor,  loves  order  but  feels  too  lan 
guid  to  spend  the  effort  to  bring  it  about. 

The  spring  crept  on  apace.  The  oaks  turned 
brown,  then  green.  The  turbid  yellow  stream, 
which  had  worn  deep  ravines  at  the  roadsides, 
shriveled  away  in  the  sunshine,  and  still  Brito- 
niart  lingered.  She  received  scant  word  from 
the  city.  Paul  was  not  a  generous  correspond 
ent.  One  day  she  visited  the  little  cottage  on 
the  hill  which  had  been  the  home  of  Dennis  Blair 
the  summer  he  wrote  his  book.  It  was  again 
empty  and  forlorn.  She  pressed  her  face  against 
the  western  pane  in  the  old  way  and  tried  to 
recall  with  enthusiasm  that  dream  of  furnishing 
in  which  she  used  to  indulge,  but  so  much  in 
truded  between  that  she  gave  it  up.  She  walked 
over  the  ploughed  land  to  the  marsh,  thinking 
of  Paul,  of  dear  old  William  John  and  her  father, 
and  scheming  how  she  might  bring  a  little  more 
of  the  sunshine  of  life  into  their  existence. 

When  she  was  returning  she  met  Henry  Mil 
ler.  She  gave  him  a  bow  and  a  smile,  but  he 
drove  on  furiously,  with  only  a  curt  nod  in  re 
turn,  and  Britomart  never  knew  that  he  had 
been  to  the  expense  of  hiring  a  livery  horse  and 
taking  this  trip  in  the  hopes  of  meeting  her  and 
being  enabled  to  show  her  how  very  little  he 
regretted  their  separation. 

One  day  in  early  June  she  left  the  street  car 
in  Chicago  with  her  modest  little  traveling  bag  in 


252  BRITOMART, 

hand  and  hurried  through  the  narrow  alley  to  her 
own  door.  Upon  unlocking  the  door  and  en 
tering,  a  feeling  of  apprehension  stole  over  her. 
The  place  smelt  close,  as  though  it  had  not  been 
opened  for  a  long  time.  Where  was  Paul?  As' 
she  stepped  over  the  threshold  something  on  the 
floor  attracted  her  attention.  She  stooped  and 
picked  up  her  own  letter,  written  over  a  week 
ago,  which  the  postman  had  slid  under  the  door. 
It  was  the  letter  announcing  her  intention  to 
return  home  on  that  day.  This,  then,  accounted 
for  Paul's  absence.  She  had  been  wondering 
all  the  way  in  the  car  if  she  should  pick  up  her 
city  life  again  just  where  she  had  left  it,  or  if, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  during  an  absence,  some 
unforseen  circumstance  would  give  it  an  alto 
gether  different  trend.  She  had  hoped  to  see 
Paul  at  the  station,  and  again  imagined  him  at 
home  building  a  fire  in  the  little  stove  and  put 
ting  on  the  kettle  for  tea ;  but  here  was  the  home 
evidently  deserted  for  days — no  welcome,  no 
warmth,  save  that  left  by  the  sun  which  had 
already  set. 

She  moved  restlessly  about  the  inhospitable 
rooms,  noting  the  cooking  utensils,  unwashed 
and  unused  for  weeks.  She  opened  all  the  win 
dows  to  let  in  such  air  as  straggled  through 
the  alley ;  then,  moved  by  an  overmastering  anx 
iety  for  her  brother,  put  on  her  hat  and  gloves, 
closed  and  locked  the  place,  and  started  for 
Blair's  rooms  to  inquire  for  Paul.  The  nearer 
she  came  to  her  destination  the  deeper  grew  her 


THE  SOCIALIST.  253 

feeling  of  apprehension.  It  was  getting  dark 
and  Britomart  was  in  haste.  She  turned  a  cor 
ner  sharply  and  came  in  contact  with  a  little 
body  going  hastily  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  next  instant  her  hands  were  fast  in  those  of 
Clarissa  Barlow's,  and  that  young  lady  was  very 
seriously  admonishing  her  to  the  effect  that  a 
tall,  solidly  built  young  woman  like  herself  was 
in  danger  of  causing  the  death  of  fragile  little 
things  by  hurling  themselves  around  corners  in 
that  reckless  manner. 

Britomart  was  not  really  glad  to  see  Clarissa. 
She  was  too  anxious  and  too  impatient  to  reach 
Blair's  rooms  before  he  should  be  going  out  for 
the  evening.  When  Clarissa  learned  her  desti 
nation  she  insisted  upon  accompanying  her.  "It 
isn't  proper  for  a  pretty  woman  like  you  to  be 
seen  climbing  to  Mr.  Blair's  rookery  alone  at 
this  time  in  the  evening." 

"Oh !"  snapped  Britomart,  "we  Socialistic 
agitators  and  breeders  of  sedition  are  not  obliged 
to  preserve  any  decorum  in  our  comings  and 
goings.  The  world  doesn't  expect  it;  but  you, 
Clarissa — I  wish  you  would  go  about  your  affairs 
and  leave  me  alone  tonight ;  I  am  not  good  com 
pany.  I  am  too  anxious  about  my  brother. 
They  won't  mind  me  up  there,  but  if  you  come 
it  will  frighten  them  to  death." 

Clarissa,  for  answer,  laughed  in  her  soft,  little 
aggravating  way,  linked  her  arm  in  Britomart's 
and  proceeded,  as  usual,  to  follow  her  own  in 
clinations. 


254  BRITOMART, 

It  was  a  long  climb  to  Blair's  attic  but  the  girls 
were  assured  of  the  gentlemen's  being  at  home 
by  a  roar  of  manly  laughter  proceeding  from  the 
room. 

"Goodness !"  said  Qarissa,  "they  are  having  a 
mass-meeting  in  there  evidently.  Shall  we  ven 
ture?" 

"I  certainly  shall,"  said  Britomart.  "I  didn't 
come  up  here  to  make  a  fashionable  call,  and  I 
warned  you  to  stay  away." 

The  door  flew  open  in  response  to  Britomart's 
determined  rap,  emitting  a  strong  odor  of  coffee. 
In  the  center  of  the  supper  table,  which  was  ar 
ranged  for  three,  stood  a  spirit  lamp  over  which 
bubbled  the  odorous  coffee-pot. 

Clarissa  uttered  a  delighted  exclamation. 
"Bohemia!"  she  cried,  "and  I  am  in  it,  at  last! 
How  wicked  never  to  have  asked  me  here  be 
fore,  and " 

"Britomart!"  exclaimed  Paul  Landor,  drag 
ging  his  sister  into  the  light  with  a  look  of  wel 
come  in  his  face.  Britomart  knew  very  well  he 
would  not  have  been  there  had  he  been  doing 
anything  of  which  she  would  not  approve.  Blair 
and  James  Barring,  the  third  member  of  the 
bachelor  party,  came  forward  to  greet  the  ladies. 

"Have  you  more  plates?"  asked  Clarissa. 
"Poor  Britomart  has  had  no  supper,  and  I  am 
as  hungry  as  I  can  be.  Is  this  the  dish  cup 
board?  No,  Paul,  let  me  get  them,  please.  I 
know  a  good  housekeeper  has  been  spoiled  in 
me  through  lack  of  opportunity  to  practice." 


THE  SOCIALIST.  255 

"Paul,  just  throw  in  another  spoonful  or  two 
of  coif ee,  will  you  ?"  said  Blair ;  "and  I  will  trou 
ble  you,  Barring,  to  put  the  chairs  around  the 
table." 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  from  anxiety 
and  suspense  to  pleasure  and  happiness,  in  rind 
ing  Paul  so  innocently  engaged,  made  Britomart 
almost  hysterical.  She  talked  and  laughed  reck 
lessly,  and  Clarissa  thought,  "How  beautiful  she 
is,  with  her  rose-leaf  complection,  her  dark  hair 
and  flashing  eyes.  Such  wit,  such  laughter !" 
Paul  and  Clarissa  were  unusually  bright.  Some 
times  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  "Chicago  Bulle 
tin,"  the  paper,  which  was  already  a  thing  of 
fact,  edited  by  Blair  and  sustained  by  Barring. 
In  the  midst  of  their  serious  talk  Blair  took 
up  his  violin  and  silence  fell  on  the  company. 
The  high  window  stood  open  to  admit  the 
night  air,  and  a  full  June  moon  came  peering 
over  the  housetops  into  that  attic  room.  It 
seemed  to  Britomart  as  though  her  soul  were 
drifting  out  to  it  on  a  flood  of  Blair's  weird 
music.  New  speculations  crept  in  and  out  of  her 
brain,  always  in  time  to  the  air  the  violin  was 
playing,  and  always  pleasantly,  because  Paul  was 
there,  safe  and  happy,  and  Blair,  and — James 
Barring.  She  wondered  how  Clarissa  came  to 
be  so  well  acquainted  with  them  all ;  she  had 
called  Paul  by  his  first  name;  she  wondered  if 
James  Barring's  face,  stern  almost  to  sadness 
under  the  influence  of  the  music,  was  a  happiness 
and  a  pain  to  Clarissa  as  it  was  t'o  her.  Little 


256  BRITOMART, 

by  little  in  the  pauses  of  the  music  and  conversa 
tion  they  explained  much  to  her  which  she  had 
not  understood.  Paul  was  employed  in  the  office 
of  "their"  paper.  Clarissa  had  been  attending 
the  meetings  of  the  club  regularly  ever  since 
Britomart's  departure,  and  declared  herself  an 
out-and-out  Socialist.  At  parting  Clarissa  said, 
"I  am  coming  to  see  you  tomorrow,  Britomart, 
because  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

There  was  not  so  much  in  her  budget  of  news, 
but  told  in  her  way  it  was  entertaining  in  the 
extreme.  Lord  Kildare,  although  his  confidence 
in  her  interest  ebbed  and  flowed,  still  considered 
her  his  affianced  wife.  Since  her  Grandmother 
Enderby's  death,  which  occurred  in  the  late 
spring,  Cousin  Theodore  had  been  fully  con 
vinced  that  they  must  marry,  although  she  had 
broken  their  engagement,  telling  him  she  knew 
their  lives  would  be  miserable  spent  in  each  oth 
er's  society.  Cousin  Theodore  was  very  angry  at 
James  Barring  on  account  of  his  connection  with 
the  "Chicago  Bulletin,"  and  sincerely  hoped  he 
would  not  get  the  nomination  for  congressman 
in  his  own  state,  of  which  there  was  a  rumor. 
Such  men,  he  said,  were  dangerous  members  of 
the  community,  especially  when  they  were  the 
possessors  of  millions.  Thank  heaven,  million 
aire  reformers  were  not  plenty !  It  was  fun,  she 
said,  to  see  Theodore's  beetling  brows  when  my 
Lord  Kildare  hove  in  sight.  He  had  told  her 
many  shocking  things  about  my  lord,  which,  had 
it  been  advisable  to  palm  her  off  upon  his  lord- 


THE  SOCIALIST.  257 

ship,  she  might  have  learned  through  wifely  in 
tuition  for  all  of  her  fond  cousin's  information. 

"And  as  for  poor  old  Chauncey  Hawkins, 
Theodore  does  not  dream  of  that  old  beau's 
aspirations;  but  Aunt  Inez  does,  and  suffers 
pangs  of  jealousy  in  consequence.  She  is  really 
in  love  with  the  old  sinner,  and  he  flirts  with 
her  when  he  thinks  I  am  not  looking.  He 
knows  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush,  and  he  isn't  sure  how  far  in  the  bush  this 
blackbird  is." 

Clarissa  spoke  of  many  musical  engagements 
waiting  for  Britomart,  and  declared  herself  en 
vious  of  a  girl  with  two  careers  looming  before 
her. 

Britomart  began  her  life  again,  playing,  teach 
ing,  studying  and  speaking  for  the  cause  of  So 
cialism.  At  last  the  latter  duty  slowly  but  surely 
crowded  out  the  others,  and  she  gave  up  her 
pupils.  In  the  fall  the  Landors  moved  to  more 
comfortable  quarters  in  a  modest  little  flat,  and 
Britomart  hired  a  young  girl  to  do  the  kitchen 
work,  thus  giving  all  of  her  time  to  the  real 
business  of  her  life.  During  this  time  Clarissa 
flitted  in  and  out  of  her  days  like  a  dark  velvet 
moth,  coming  and  going  unbidden  in  her  quiet, 
impudent  way.  When  Britomart  spoke  of  her 
marriage  she  answered  only  with  a  smile  and  an 
enigmatical  gleam  from  her  narrow  dark  eyes. 
Once  she  said  that  a  girl  who  was  the  affianced 
of  three  very  determined  men  must  be  careful 


258  BRITOMART, 

about  marriage  for  fear  of  hurting  some  one's 
feelings. 

When  in  the  city  James  Barring  always  came 
to  see  the  Landers.  He  knew  this  woman  with 
the  queenly  head  was  a  power  in  the  growing 
world  of  Socialists.  As  soon  as  possible  after 
his  successful  campaign  he  came  to  Chicago,  and 
to  Britomart,  to  receive  her  congratulations. 
He  found  the  home  closed  and  learned  that 
Britomart  was  again  with  her  people  in  Wis 
consin.  There  was  no  lack  of  enthusiasm  in 
the  reception  accorded  him  by  Chicago  Social 
ists,  but  he  was  not  satisfied. 

Britomart,  standing  among  the  dead  sunflower 
stalks  which  whispered  of  winter  about  the  de 
serted  Leven  cottage,  dreaming  of  many  things, 
suddenly  found  herself  face  to  face  with  one  of 
the  materialized  shadows  of  her  dreams,  James 
Barring.  Her  heart  stood  still.  What  could  he, 
the  man  of  riches  and  newly  acquired  political 
honors,  want  here  at  her  humble  old  home  ?  He 
held  her  hands  long  in  greeting  and  smiled  anx 
iously  into  her  eyes  upturned  to  his.  This  man 
of  the  world,  this  mine-owner,  millionaire,  and 
successful  politician  was  pale  with  apprehension 
lest  Britomart  Landor,  the  country  girl,  should 
not  see  fit  to  grant  what  he  was  about  to  ask; 
then,  with  a  straightforwardness  characteristic  of 
him,  he  plunged  into  the  matter  at  hand. 

"And  Clarissa?"  asked  Britomart,  with  dry 
lips. 

"Clarissa?"  he  repeated,  bewildered. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  259 


"She  loves  you,  she- 


"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Britomart.  There 
has  never  been  a  word  of  love  between  Clarissa 
and  myself.  I  do  not  want  Clarissa ;  I  want  you." 
His  arms  were  about  her  and  his  lips  were 
pressed  to  hers  in  a  solemn  kiss  of  betrothal. 
The  winds  might  whisper  of  the  night  to  the 
dead  sunflowers,  and  the  chill  of  autumn  wither 
the  brown  fields,  but  here  was  the  eternal  spring 
time  of  honest  love.  "We  cannot  count  the 
money  ours,  Britomart.  It  belongs  to  the  peo 
ple — the  cause.  Nor  can  ours  be  a  life  of  leis 
ure." 

"No,  no,"  assented  Britomart,  "I  can  work  in 
a  certain  way,  and  work  I  must — you  in  your 
way,  I  in  mine,  but  together." 

"It  is  growing  dark,"  he  said;  "come,  dear." 
He  drew  her  towards  the  cottage  gate,  and  as 
they  reached  it  an  open  carriage  went  by,  the 
driver  of  which  Britomart  recognized  as  Henry 
Miller.  He  glanced  at  them  and  passed  on,  his 
seedy  equipage  soon  going  out  of  sight  below  the 
hill. 

Britomart  shuddered. 

"Are  you  cold  ?"  asked  Barring. 

"No,"  she  said;  "that  man  who  just  passed 
was  the  editor  to  whom  I  was  engaged  once 
upon  a  time.  You  see  I  have  a  penchant  for 
newspaper  men.  His  paper  differs  from  yours 
in  its  politics,  I  believe." 

"Thank  Heaven!  you  saw  fit  to  change  your 
mind  in  that  newspaperman's  case;  and,  pray 


260  BRITOMART, 

Heaven,  you  may  not  in  the  case  of  this  one !" 
"But  I  didn't,"  laughed  Britomart.  "He 
changed  his  mind — jilted  me."  And  Britomart 
told  her  lover  the  story  of  her  unhappy  farm  life 
as  they  went  down  the  hill  together. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Britomart  saw  but  little  of  her  lover  during 
the  winter,  but  she  was  not  lonely.  Happiness 
and  hard  work  banish  loneliness.  Prosperity 
had  surely  come  to  her  and  hers,  although  not 
produced  by  the  political  plasters  applied  by  the 
demagogues  who  had  howled  themselves  hoarse 
at  the  fall  elections,  and  who  promised  that, 
should  their  party  be  successful,  the  land  would 
bask  under  the  smiling  sun  of  plenty  once  more, 
and  all  economic  evils  be  done  away  with.  She 
was  supporting  herself  handsomely  now,  thanks 
to  the  fad-chasers  of  Chicago  society,  who, 
merely  for  the  reason  that  they  could  not  always 
get  her,  always  yearned  for  her  services.  She 
found  herself  in  the  Jeffries  parlors  one  even 
ing,  to  play  Mrs.  Jeffries'  accompaniments  and 
incidentally  a  solo  in  the  course  of  the  entertain 
ment.  Mrs.  Jeffries  had  sent  an  urgent  request, 
so  urgent  as  to  be  almost  a  prayer,  together 
with  a  check  of  goodly  size.  Britomart  ac 
cepted,  made  use  of  the  check  where  it  would 
do  the  most  good,  and  presented  herself  in  good 
time,  tastefully  arrayed  in  pale  blue  silk,  cut  low 
in  front  to  show  her  round,  white  throat.  On 
her  bosom  she  wore  a  bunch  of  white  camelias — 
she  loved  white  blossoms — pinned  with  the  iden 
tical  diamond  which  Clarissa  had  insisted  upon 
her  wearing  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  appear- 


262  BRITOMART, 

ance.  It  was  her  own  now,  a  gift  from  Clarissa, 
who  would  not  take  a  refusal  when  she  pressed 
the  gift  upon  her  friend.  Mrs.  Jeffries  was  in 
white,  with  a  great  sheaf  of  red  poppies  falling 
over  her  shoulder.  She  was  nervous  and  ill  at 
ease,  her  eyes  wandering  occasionally  to  the  cor 
ner  where  Chauncey  Hawkins  answered  Lord 
Kildare's  questions  in  an  absent-minded  man 
ner.  Both  these  gentlemen  had  come  early  in 
hopes  of  catching  a  word  alone  with  Clarissa,  the 
heiress,  and  both  had  been  disappointed,  for 
Clarissa  had  not  as  yet  appeared. 

Between  a  restless,  domineering  son,  a  vas- 
cillating  lover,  and  a  wayward  niece,  Mrs.  Inez' 
lot  was  not  a  happy  one.  Her  eyes  snapped  quite 
as  brilliantly,  but  the  lines  across  the  brow  be 
neath  the  pompadour  of  black  hair  were  grow 
ing  very  prominent. 

Hilda  French  arrived  presently,  floating  into 
the  room,  a  veritable  vision  of  light,  in  a  fluffy, 
white  dress  and  brilliants. 

Suddenly  a  servant  twitched  the  portieres 
across  the  great  doors,  shutting  off  the  hall. 
Mrs.  Jeffries  did  not  understand  this  action,  but, 
as  it  was  apparently  for  some  very  good  pur 
pose,  concluded  not  to  investigate. 

Britomart  finished  arranging  her  music,  then 
turned  vaguely  to  the  small  company,  wondering 
what  kept  Clarissa. 

"Where  is  everybody?"  muttered  Theodore, 
snapping  his  watch.  "It  is  late." 

Just  then  the  curtain  was  held  back  by  a  fine, 
white  hand  which  Britomart  recognized  with 


THE  SOCIALIST.  263 

alarm,  admitting  Clarissa,  closely  followed  by 
two  men.  If  Britomart  had  been  startled  by  the 
apparition  of  Blair's  well  known  hand  on  the  cur 
tain,  she  was  much  more  so  to  see  her  brother 
Paul  and  the  owner  of  the  hand  following  Cla 
rissa  into  that  house. 

Clarissa  advanced  to  the  center  of  the  room, 
her  black  hair  coiling  itself  low  on  her  neck 
and  close  to  her  creamy  cheeks.  She  wore  a 
great  black  hat,  tilted  very  much  to  one  side, 
and  a  dress  of  white  satin,  the  waist  heavy  with 
rich  lace  and  costly  pearls.  Her  opera  cloak 
dragged  far  upon  the  floor  like  the  ermine- 
trimmed  train  of  a  queen.  This  cloak-dragging 
was  a  trick  of  Clarissa's  which  the  family  had 
learned  to  dread,  knowing  it  meant  trouble. 
Blair,  quiet,  imperturbable,  his  Indian-like  pro 
file  showing  no  sign  of  uneasiness,  followed  close 
behind,  bowing  over  a  hat  which  one  slender 
hand  held  crushed  against  his  breast.  Paul, 
handsome,  and  triumphant,  smiled  grimly  at  his 
old  employer  from  the  vantage  ground  of  good 
clothes  and  independence. 

"Good  evening,  Hilda  and  Britomart.  Come 
here  and  stand  beside  me,"  commanded  Clarissa. 
"This  is  the  last  act  of  the  play.  Clear  the  stage 
and  get  the  actors  ready  for  a  quick  drop.  And 
you,  Mademoiselle  Britomart,  are  not  the  central 
figure,  let  me  remind  you  of  that.  It  is  your 
humble  servant,  who  loves  to  be  theatrical  as  she 
loves  to  live.  Aunt  Inez,  there  can  be  no  musi- 
cale  here  tonight,  as  there  is  death  in  the  house. 
I  ordered  John  to  close  the  portiere  and  quietly 


264  BR1TOMART, 

send  the  guests  away;  but  I  wished  to  notify 
you  in  here  myself.  Betty  Barlow  has  finished 
her  long  career  tonight,  and  lies  upstairs  now, 
straight  and  still,  her  crooked  old  hands  resting 
at  last  from  their  useless  activity.  Cousin  Theo 
dore,  this  is  my  husband,  Dennis  Blair,  to  whom 
I  was  married  one  hour  ago,  with  our  mutual 
friend,  Mr.  Paul  Landor,  as  one  of  the  witnesses. 
You  remember,  cousin,  of  likening  the  Social 
istic  movement  to  the  eternal  advance  of  waves 
upon  an  unyielding  shore  only  to  meet  an  easy 
defeat  and  fall  back  in  helplesness,  and,  you  re 
member,  I  suggested  that  although  the  waves 
might  not  create  any  perceptible  change  in  the 
shore  line,  that  every  wave  did,  after  all,  leave 
its  mark  on  the  adamantine  barriers,  and  that, 
however  that  might  be,  the  waves  in  their  mad 
struggle  now  and  then  submerged  individuals. 
Cousin  Theodore,  your  head  is  under  the  waves. 
You  must  learn  to  look  to  Socialists  for  future 
business  successes,  for  the  money,  the  mills,  the 
bonds,  the  houses,  are  not  half  yours  and  half 
mine,  but  by  the  will  of  Betty  Barlow,  all  mine  to 
belong  to  me  and  my  heirs  forever !" 

Theodore  uttered  a  cry  and  sprang  forward 
as  though  he  would  strike  the  girl,  but  Blair  in 
terposed  his  person  between  them,  and  the  eyes 
of  the  two  men  met  on  a  level  and  at  close  range, 
Blair's  cool,  merciless,  Jeffries'  dispairing,  hating 
and  seething  for  revenge.  Kildare  came  forward 
bridling,  and  was  confronted  by  six  feet  of  manly 
contempt  in  the  person  of  Paul  Landor,  who  was 
perfectly  willing  there  should  be  a  scene. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  265 

"You  damned  mountebank,  how  dare  you  in 
veigle  that  foolish  girl  into  a  marriage  with 
you !" 

"Indeed,  Theodore,  it  was  I  who  did  the  in 
veigling,  and  hard  work  I  had  of  it,"  gurgled 
Clarissa,  with  her  provoking  laugh,  "Perhaps 
my  perseverance  even,  would  not  have  prevailed 
had  it  not  been  for — "  she  was  about  to  say, 
"my  fortune  which  is  to  be  devoted  to  the 
Cause,"  when  a  glance  from  her  husband's  eyes 
startled  her,  and  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

This  did  not  escape  Theodore,  whose  rage 
could  not  exceed  his  wonder.  Clarissa,  whose 
willfulness  was  proverbial,  whose  insubordina 
tion  under  authority  was  known  to  every  one,  to 
quail  beneath  a  glance  from  that  man's  eyes ! 

"I  hope  he  will  beat  you !"  he  muttered. 

"And  I,"  said  Clarissa,  "shall  love  him  even 
though  he  beat  me."  She  dropped  her  head 
upon  her  husband's  shoulder  and  for  a  moment 
her  face  was  transfigured  into  absolute  loveliness. 

He  kissed  her,  then  pushed  her  a  little  away 
from  him,  saying,  "Go  on,  Clarissa,  I  wish  to 
finish  here  and  be  gone." 

"Very  well ;  I  wish  to  say,"  continued  Clarissa, 
— "but  some  one  had  better  assist  Aunt  Inez; 
she  has  fainted." 

Theodore  carried  his  mother  out  of  the  room) 
returning  almost  immediately. 

"I  wish  to  say,"  proceeded  Clarissa,  "that  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Hawkins  for  being 
willing  to  hamper  his  youth  with  such  a  foolish 
wife  as  I  should  have  been,  and  to  Lord  Kil- 


266  BRITOMART, 

dare  that  I  wished  for  a  gentleman  for  my  hus 
band  and  long  ago  decided  that  he  must  be  an 
American  gentleman,  and  that  I  was  more  par 
ticular  about  the  man  being  really  a  gentleman, 
really  all  that  the  name  implies,  you  know,  than 
I  was  about  who  his  father  and  grandfather  were. 
You,  Theodore,  I  want  to  promise  that  we  will 
look  after  you  and  Aunt  Inez — wait,  wait — re 
member  I  speak  from  the  advantageous  stand 
point  now.  You  shall  be  assisted  to  a  legitimate 
business;  but  the  bulk  of  the  Barlow  fortune 
goes  back  where  it  belongs,  to  the  people.  That 
is,  it  is  going  to  further  the  cause  of  Socialism. 
This  is  the  real  reason  Dennis  consented — " 

Again  that  quiet  look,  and  again  silence  and 
a  change  of  subject.  Evidently  Mrs.  Clarissa 
had  her  own  lessons  to  learn,  one  of  which  was 
that  the  methods  she  had  employed  to  tyrannize 
over  her  aunt  and  cousin  were  not  likely  to  be 
a  success  with  her  husband. 

"We  shall  only  stay  to  see  poor  Betty  Bar 
low  laid  to  rest,  then  across  seas  on  our  wed 
ding  trip.  Do  you  wish  me  to  remain  here  until 
after  the  funeral,  Theodore,  or  shall  I  go  away 
with  my  husband?" 

She  was  in  hopes  that  he  would  turn  her 
away,  that  she  might  be  free  to  go  with  Dennis 
to  the  dear  little  attic  and  get  supper  over  the 
spirit  lamp;  but  Theodore  said  huskily,  "Re 
main  here,"  and  again  she  acquiesced,  in  obedi 
ence  to  the  quiet  glance  from  Blair's  eyes,  which 
had  the  power,  then,  and  ever  afterwards,  to  sub 
due  her  wayward  spirit. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  267 

"He  doesn't  beat  me,  as  Cousin  Theodore 
hoped  he  would,"  she  told  Britomart  later,  "but 
he  dominates  me,  masters  me,  through  the  power 
of  my  love  and  admiration  for  him.  I  dare  not 
say  cutting  things  to  him  as  I  have  always  been 
in  the  habit  of  saying — had  to,  in  fact,  in  self 
defense — to  Aunt  Inez  and  Theodore.  I  would 
not  forfeit  my  husband's  admiration  for  all  the 
world  holds  beside,  and  you  know,  he  does  not 
admire  my  vindictiveness.  He  says  that  inter 
view  with  Theodore,  on  the  night  of  our  mar 
riage,  was  unnecessarily  cruel,  and  if  he  had 
known  \vhat  a  proceeding  it  was  to  have  been, 
he  should  never  have  consented  to  my  going 
there.  I  took  good  care  he  should  not  know 
there  were  guests  in  the  house.  I  wanted  them 
— the  very  ones  who  were  there.  I  think  it  no 
more  than  fair,  Britomart,  that  the  last  grand 
flourish  should  have  been  theatrical,  and  I  the 
central  figure — I,  who  love  it  so.  I  wanted  you 
to  be  present  on  that  account,  to  let  you  know 
that  you  were  not  the  only  girl  to  make  a  ro 
mantic  marriage,  although — Ah  !  woe  is  me ! — 
if  it  were  not  for  your  marriage  mine  could 
never  have  been,  because  Dennis  Blair  wanted 
you  instead  of  me." 

"Clarissa !"  cried  Britomart,  "how  foolish,  how 
wicked,  to  talk  like  that.  If  your  husband  were 
here  you  would  not  dare  say  such  a  thing!" 

"I  know  that  well  enough,"  answered  Clarissa, 
"I  dare  not  nag  at  him,  but  it  is  the  truth  for — 
Dennis  Blair  told  me  so  himself  when  I  asked 
him  to  marry  me." 


268  BRITOMART, 

"Clarissa,  you — " 

"Of  course  I  did.  Do  you  think  the  struggling 
editor  of  a  labor  paper  who  lived  in  an  attic  and 
made  his  own  tea  over  a  spirit  lamp  was  going 
to  ask  the  heiress  of  the  Barlow  millions  to 
marry  him  ?  No,  indeed,  not  Dennis  Blair,  espe 
cially  when  he  was  in  love  with  another  woman. 
Isn't  it  queer,"  she  laughed,  "I,  who  have  always 
feared  being  married  for  my  money  above  every 
thing  else,  to  marry  at  last,  a  man  who  tells  me 
plainly  that  he  is  marrying  me  for  my  money. 
Don't  look  so  horrified,  Britomart,  he  told  me 
that.  It  was  my  million  he  married  for  the  sake 
of  Socialism.  It  is  to  go  just  as  fast  as  we  can 
spend  it,  for  that  great  cause,  and  Theodore's 
million  on  top  of  that.  Dennis  says  it  was  accu 
mulated  through  the  murder  of  innocents  and 
in  order  to  wash  the  blood-stains  from  it,  it  must 
be  cleansed  by  the  grateful  tears  of  the  people. 
But  don't  flatter  yourself,  my  lady.  He  shall 
love  me  if  it  is  within  the  power  of  woman  to 
bring  it  about.  He  shall !  He  shall !  I  will  cling 
to  him  and  coil  myself  about  his  heart  until  you 
are  crowded  out.  I  am  doing  It  now — even  this 
early." 

She  came  to  Britomart  and  leaned,  panting, 
against  her  shoulder.  Her  black  crown  of  hair 
scarcely  came  to  Britomart's  ear.  Britomart  was 
again  reminded  of  a  smooth,  beautiful,  but  dan 
gerous  panther,  tamed  now  by  the  hand  of  a 
master,  yet  quivering  with  the  old  lithe  ferocity, 
loving  her  conqueror  with  the  same  wild  uncon- 
trol  with  which  she  hated  her  natural  enemies. 


THE  SOCIALIST.  269 

Britomart  put  herarms  around  her  and  smoothed 
her  much  as  she  might  have  smoothed  her  feline 
counterpart  from  the  vantage  ground  of  safety 
which  her  own  assured  happiness  made  for  her. 
Blair's  confession  of  love  for  herself,  made  to 
Clarissa  Barlow,  was  a  revelation  to  her,  fop. 
never,  in  word  or  action — and  they  had  been 
much  together — had  the  man  revealed!;  such  an.' 
emotion,  and  never  in  the  years  to  come,  when 
they  shall  be  associated  with  more  or  less  fami 
liarity  in  their  chosen  work,  will  Clarissa  have 
cause  for  jealousy,  because  she  is  winning,  as  she 
boasted  she  should  do,  every  corner  of  her  hus 
band's  great  heart  to  herself. 


THE  END. 


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